


Impala

by helena_s_renn, Helenas_bitch, orphan_account



Series: Teh Winchesters [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Forced Prostitution, M/M, Rape/Non-con References, Sibling Incest, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 11:38:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 54,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena_s_renn/pseuds/helena_s_renn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helenas_bitch/pseuds/Helenas_bitch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean receives an unexpected gift from John</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When John Winchester looked into his sons' bedroom, Dean was already gone. It was a Saturday, thus no school for Sam, and the boy was still sleeping. John's heart ached, but he had no choice. Although Sam was only fourteen, it would soon be time for John's youngest to become an adult. 

He forced a smile onto his face and ruffled Sam's hair. "Hey," he said when he was greeted by sleep-heavy eyes, "how would you like pancakes for breakfast? And there's a surprise waiting for you and your brother."

* * *

Fully awake, Sam jumped out of bed and straight to the bathroom after nodding enthusiastically. He cherished the rare times when Dad was at home and cooked for them. And Dad had a surprise for him and Dean! Dean's side of the bed had been empty, so he was probably out on a coffee run. As much as Sam missed rubbing his morning boner against Dean's hip, he was so curious now that he finished his shower without even touching himself. Entering the kitchen, he was hit by the delicious scent of freshly-made pancakes and smiled. It was going to be one of these few perfect special days he'd never forget.

* * *

Seeing the happy smile on Sammy's face, John had to turn away. He focused on the food and was relieved when the front door opened and he heard Dean's voice calling out to him before even saying good morning.

"Hi Dad," Dean threw the keys to the Impala on the kitchen table. "Whose is that rust bucket in our parking lot?"

"Mine," John replied. This time, he didn't have to fake a smile when he picked up the Impala keys and held them out to Dean. "Take them. As of today, your 'Baby' is finally yours."

* * *

The Winchesters had few luxuries in life. They had a trunkful of weapons and monster-killing paraphernalia, but that did little in the way of comfort, other than to know that if anything hunted _them_ , they wouldn't go down without a fight. Money allowing, one thing they did indulge in was coffee. The good stuff when they were flush, which wasn't often. The brewed stuff when they weren't, instant if that was all they could afford. Coffee was an absolute necessity, as far as John was concerned, and Dean eschewed to the same philosophy.

In the morning, Dean made a run, since they didn't own a machine, and noticed, coming back, an unfamiliar if crappy old car parked outside. He'd been too out of it to give it a second look, going out. Balancing three large to-go cups – Sam had recently decided to give it a try, and was well on the way to being as caffeine-dependent as the rest of them – Dean walked into the kitchen to the smell of freshly-made pancakes. He wondered what the occasion could be. John rarely cooked, not since Dean had been old enough to work a stove.

Setting his dad's coffee on the counter near him, Dean greeted him with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, and asked about the car outside. Sam was sitting at the set table, half-asleep still and rubbing his eyes. Handing him another of the cups, Dean messed up his bedhead worse.

When John announced that the rust-bucket outside was his, because Baby was now Dean's... What?! Since he'd been big enough to understand about cars and what was a nice car or a cool car or a hot car, Dean had wanted the Impala as his own. She was all of those things, and sexy, pure muscle and flash, utilitarian and like a second home, all in one. Hell, he'd been driving her since he was twelve. He felt alive with joy and thanks, so happy about it he wondered if he should hug his dad. Well, that might be awkward. But what the hell, he did it anyway. John wasn't exactly affectionate, but he at least returned the hug one-armed, if somewhat stiffly.

"Thanks, Dad! Why are you... it's not even my birthday. That is so awesome, man!!" Dean was too excited to sit down just yet. The keys in his pocket... his! He'd never owned anything but the clothes on his back, the amulet from Sam, and his gun and knives, and now, the one thing he'd always wanted. "Can we get the title changed over right after breakfast?" He didn't know if he could eat anything, but if he didn't he'd be sorry for drinking all that coffee on an empty stomach.

The pancakes were finished, and John brought the plate of them to the table. Dean took two and picked up his fork. 

* * *

John couldn't even remember when the last time was that Dean had shown him any kind of affection. It was certainly before... He stiffened when his oldest hugged him, but managed to return the hug with one arm. Dean was so happy that it made John's heart ache. He'd never wanted this life for his sons, but with the knowledge he had, there was no alternative. Sam and Dean must learn to fight, to defend themselves, to be ready if – _no, when_ the demon that had killed Mary came to harvest Sam. His little, innocent Sam, who might turn into pure evil. No, John didn't have a choice.

He had, however, some leeway in how to handle things. Grinning broadly, he watched Dean, stuffed with pancakes to the point of his cheeks bulging out almost like a hamster's. Sam was eating as well, but John found himself being watched by the hooded, brooding eyes of his youngest. Sighing inwardly, he felt a burning desire to let Sam enjoy this day, possibly the last of his childhood. 

"Dean, now that you have your own car, would you like to take your brother out for a spin?"

Sam's eyes widened. "Oh yes, Dean, please, can we go?"

* * *

He hadn't even thought he was hungry, yet Dean found himself stuffing his face. Delicious!! When his dad asked if he wanted to take Sam out for a drive, his mouth was so full he could hardly speak. He'd probably get it for such bad manners, but he didn't care. 

"Rraah, ooo beh!" Dean addressed his dad. He quickly swallowed. "Hell, yes, I do!" To Sam he replied, "Yeah, dude," with a mile-wide grin splitting his face. He probably looked like a half-wit, and he didn't mind that either. Not today.

Dad still made him drink milk when he was around, if they had any. Dean expediently dumped his half a glass into the coffee and slurped it down, since it was tepid at best after that. Then he shoveled more pancake into his mouth, bouncing his leg under the table with nervous energy. It was really his!! Damn, he had almost a semi from how... good, happy, excited he was. 

It seemed to take a year to finish his breakfast. Their dad watched him, looking vaguely amused. Sam was as sullen as usual with John around. For once, Dean didn't worry about their moods. Jumping up, he dumped his dishes in the sink. "Mind if I do these later?" he asked. "I just want to _drive._ " 

And he wanted Sammy in the passenger seat beside him. What else could be more right, with the sun shining and nothing pressing to do? Today... today was golden. "Hurry up, Sam!" His little brother was barely half-finished. "Stop playing with it and eat!" 

* * *

Favoring his brother with a pissy look, Sam gave Dean the finger. Being torn between the pancakes and the prospect of sex in the Impala, he found it hard to make a decision, but he followed Dean's example and stuffed a large portion into his mouth.

* * *

John pretended to ignore his sons' current eating habits. "Off you go, then." He had to suppress a grin at Dean's enthusiasm. He should probably scold him for speaking with his mouth full, but it was too good to see Dean behaving like a normal teenager.

"And Dean, I'd appreciate your help with the 'rust bucket' later. You're the only mechanic I can trust besides myself, and this old girl has a few issues. I'd rather not find out about her losing brake fluid during a hunt."

At that, Dean smiled even more.

* * *

"Sure, Dad! Right after we get done taking a cruise," Dean promised. If nothing else, he'd won his dad's respect as a mechanic, as well as a fair hunter, even if he wasn't ready to go out on his own for much yet. Dean was always ready to prove himself, whether it be as a son, a hunter, or a man. 

Sam finally cleaned his plate and took it to the sink, with his silverware and glass. "About time, little bro," Dean told him, about to mess up Sam's hair again. Catching another 'don't you dare, fucker' look, he smacked him on the shoulder instead and turned toward the door. He could always noogie him out of their dad's sight – Sam might even put up with it. And if not, there were other, more interesting alternatives. Later.

"Let's go!" Dean palmed his – his! – keys, held them up, and jingled them. Sam was still in the tee-shirt and sweatpants he'd slept in. Good enough; all he needed was shoes. "Want me to get anything while we're out?" he addressed John. Running errands was one of those boring but necessary duties he was usually stuck with, but now all a sudden, even that sounded like an important adventure. His feet had already found their way across the small kitchen to the door, and he reached for the knob. 

* * *

Seeing his boys so excited, John couldn't suppress a grin. "Why don't you go _hunt_ for gummy worms while you're out, Dean? I'm sure your brother would love that."

"Oh yes, please, Dean," Sam made puppy dog eyes at his brother while already plotting in his head how he'd drive Dean crazy with lust by slowly sucking the sweets into his mouth. He'd have to talk Dean into finding a place away from the public instead of driving all day, and the gummy worms could turn out to be valuable props for his plan.

When Dean looked pointedly at his bare feet, Sam ran to their room, shimmied into jeans, and grabbed a pair of sneakers. He didn't bother tying them – plenty of time while they were on the road. He couldn't wait until they were on their own.

"I'm ready," Sam panted.

* * *

That was Sam's favorite candy. Even Dean could eat them till he was sick, although he preferred the original bear form. "Gummy worms, huh?" He cut his eyes sideways at Sam. "Yeah, maybe. As long as they're not the sour ones." The look on Sam's face told him they needed to get out of there – NOW.

Throwing a "'Bye, Dad!" over his shoulder, Dean jogged out the door to his Baby, running his hands over the shiny black paint of the hood, fender, and roof as if she were a lover he'd been separated from for months and months. "God, Sammy," he groaned at his brother. "Can you believe it? I'm gonna totally jizz in my pants!" 

Of course, he was being a little overboard about _loving_ his car, but what the hell, he could appreciate ii for one day, right? "Get in," he ordered Sam, hopping in behind the steering wheel and starting the motor. Leaving it in park, he revved the engine a few times. The roar of 327 horses thrummed through his veins. As soon as Sam slammed his door, Dean took off. He had a lead foot, but didn't speed enough over the limit to be pulled over. Nothing was going to ruin his perfect day. 

He wanted to grin till his cheeks hurt, laugh till his belly ached. And... There was one other thing that felt really, really good, too, in a different way. Glancing at Sam speculatively, he decided to wait till they were well away from civilization. "Well, what do you think? Does it look good on me? I think it's awesome!" Dean turned onto a country highway leading out of town and floored it. 

* * *

Sam was bouncing in the passenger seat. To be honest, he didn't really get his brother's obsession with a car. Wasn't 'she' was just a pile of metal, after all? But when they left the parking lot, he realized that Dean having a car on his own had benefits he couldn't have imagined only a few minutes ago: it meant that they had a place safe from Dad where they could indulge their desires.

"Dude, _everything_ looks good on you," Sam grinned, unable to resist Dean's good mood. "As you said, awesome." Dean was looking as if he was going to burst with happiness. "Should I be jealous?" Sam asked, fluttering his eyelashes.

* * *

They flew down the road, countryside and occasional tree whipping by in his peripheral vision. Dean only nodded when Sam said it looked good on him. Whatever anyone thought, he _knew_ this was his thing. Already he was planning to tinker with the headers, and at some point in the foggy future, he needed new rims. Baby still wore the ones his dad put on when he bought her, and Dean wanted shiny brand new chrome.

"Jealous...?" What? Dean looked over at Sam, seeing the grin directed at him. Not only 'happy', but he'd swear, horny. "Jealous of... Baby?" He laughed, and reached over to pull Sam over. "Nah, I love her, but I think maybe she'll be jealous of you, after a while. Maybe she'd even say, 'get a room, boys,' but we've got our own, right there." Just to be clear, Dean jerked his chin once in the direction of the back seat. 

He'd slept back there much of his childhood, they both had, he'd already gotten laid back there a dozen times... Never with Sammy, or whatever one would call what they did. Plenty of time for that. He turned his head quickly and nuzzled Sam's ear, then turned back to the road just in time to guide the big hunk of steel around a curve. 

* * *

Sam pondered this for a while. "Maybe... we can find a way for you to love us both at the same time," he offered. "There's the back seat, of course, and then..." Not sure if this was a good idea, Sam hesitated before reaching out and giving his brother's crotch a gentle stroke. Dean's hands wobbled on the steering wheel for a second and Sam flinched back.

"Um, okay, maybe not like this." Thinking again, he giggled. "But I should tell you that I'll be jealous if I ever see you with your, um, prick up her exhaust pipe." Sam giggled even harder. "That'd be, er, quite hot, though, literally!"

* * *

"Sam...! A dude would have to be a complete dumb-ass to do that unless he wants the skin fried off his dick!" Dean shuddered, partly due to the mental imagery, in part because Sam had run his hand over Dean's crotch for a second and his own dick couldn't decide whether to shrink protectively or fill in response to the stimulation. His sweaty palms slipped on the wheel and Dean snorted, "I know you're not into working on cars, but don't touch the tailpipe when it's hot... especially not with your more sensitive parts. That would be about as non-brilliant as trying to get a blow job with a vacuum cleaner." 

Having straightened the car on the road, Dean decided to turn down a smaller, though still paved highway. As a hunter, it was to his advantage to know back roads and shortcuts. Since Dad hadn't given him any warning about gas usage, he decided to see where this one led. "Well, what do you think? Keep driving, or look for somewhere to pull over?" Turning his head a little, Dean waggled his eyebrows. Sam's lips were parted, teeth barely visible. If such a thing was possible, Dean's own teeth ached to nip at his little brother's soft skin.

It felt like one of those days that he could drive for hours, only... It hit him that they were alone and no one was around. The sky was blue and huge above them, the countryside stretched out in shades of brown and green. And Sam... Multi-colored eyes, his skin naturally a darker tan than Dean's, and then those bits of pink, dusky to dark bordering on purple, his flat little nipples, his sac, his tight little hole and most obviously, the curving swell of his erection... Maybe they should take advantage of this chance. Although... He'd need to be able to stay awake to drive them home. And Sam should have a say. They spent so much time in this car, it wouldn't do to make it a point – or a bone, as it were – of contention. Shifting his butt on the leather, Dean slouched a little lower, letting his thighs spread wide. "Or do you have a real craving for gummy worms?"

* * *

Sam laughed. "I have a real craving for _your_ gummy worm," he giggled. "But I'm okay with driving – or watching you drive." It was true. He thought he knew his brother's many nuances, but he'd rarely seen Dean so happy and carefree. Although he was only fourteen years old, Sam had a feeling that this should be normal for a boy – man, he corrected himself – of Dean's age. Once again, he yearned for a normal life for himself and Dean. And for Dad, of course. And that suggested...

"Dean," Sam said anxiously, "Do you think Dad knows? I mean, about us? What we, uh, do when he isn't there? Like, maybe he gave you the car so we could have some alone time without him, er, having to stop us from, um, doing, well, _things...?_ " He bit his lip, suddenly flustered. "I mean, when Dad suggested we go hunt for gummy worms... Are you sure he meant, um, gummy worms or maybe... you know?"

* * *

Sniggering at Sam's reference to his dick as a gummy worm, Dean replied, "If it is a gummy worm, I guess that explains why you like that kind of candy so much. But I prefer to think of it as an all-day sucker." Already rolling his eyes at himself over the extreme cheesiness of his next suggestion, he made a rude tongue gesture and let his voice ooze, "Wanna lick my lollipop?"

About to have some fun and throw more bad puns at his still somewhat innocent little brother, Sam's hesitant questions stopped Dean short. It was on the tip of his tongue to explode and order Sam to never tell, under pain of death. The expression on Sam's face – poor kid was breaking out on his forehead – was sort of introspective, and he didn't want Sam to feel any guilt, that was his deal. Sam was too young to be marred by that, and Dean was older, four years older, plenty old enough to know what the rest of the world would say. 

But it was also important in the extreme that John never catch a hint, not the slightest whiff of what they did when he wasn't around. He was a suspicious man, smart, learned, and he was tenacious. Dean had seen how he investigated cases till they broke open before him, even if it took months. So far, none of his efforts had netted him the thing that had killed their mother, which only served to make him more driven. If he ever thought that Dean was doing anything to create a monster in his brother, he's separate them so fast and so completely, it would be like the other existed only in memory. Sure, John grumped about Dean's bad habits. He knew better than anyone that Dean was beyond turning away from his vices and why, but it never had the moral imperative their dad enforced upon Sam to be good, strong, and pure of heart. 

And, body. Or so Dean assumed, but it wasn't something he was going bring up. He'd messed that up willingly, full of delight and glee along with the darker shadows of guilt and secrecy. So, to convey the import, without freaking Sam the hell out, might be tricky. He slowed a bit, easing his foot off the accelerator, and thought of what words, what tone, would suffice. 

"Well, I'm sure Dad gets laid once in a blue moon when he's hunting alone. I know, ew, right?" he chuckled darkly. "And he's gotta remember what being a teenager is like: horny 24/7, inappropriate boners, wet dreams..." At the time or since, Dean had never mentioned to Sam that John had known when he'd hit puberty. Sam would have found some way to turn it into another bitchface day. Now, many months later, it was plenty obvious between the gangling limbs, acne, body hair, and all the other joys. "He doesn't know about us, Sam. You said it yourself, if he did, he would stop us. I think you know that, since we don't... we act normal in front of him. That's how it's gotta be." It was true. There was no teasing besides the competitive word-bandying and punching they'd always done – no flirting, no touching when John was there. To let what he'd said sink in, Dean pursed his lips and concentrated on the road. 

* * *

Hearing Dean refer to his dick as an 'all-day sucker' made Sam giggle and his own dick twitch. Only a second later, 'Wanna lick my lollipop' made him break into loud laughter. It was rare to see his brother so relaxed, and it felt good. It wasn't that Dean had no humor, but the life they led often put so much pressure on him that sometimes Sam wondered how Dean was still sane. He knew that sooner or later, he'd be submitted to the same pressure, and he considered himself lucky to be young enough – although it sucked on other issues – to have to go to school. It was one thing he didn't understand, why Dean had given up school, but Dad seemed okay with it, and who was Sam to question their father's orders.

At least that's what he kept being told. In truth, Sam would more often engage in loud quarrels with Dad than agree with him, often leaving it to Dean to sort out things later. Dean never complained although he cautioned Sam to be more careful about upsetting Dad. Sam should probably feel guilty about this... As much as he disagreed with Dad though, today he loved his father deeply. Giving the Impala to Dean... Sam knew he wouldn't be able to show his gratitude to Dad – even if he could express it, Dad would consider it a weakness and push him away. But in his heart, he thanked their father, over and over.

He'd been lost in thought for a minute, but so had, apparently, Dean. When Dean spoke again, he suggested that Dad's sex life was pretty much non-existent, and confirmed that their father must never find out what Sam and Dean were up to in his absence.

Sam frowned. It wasn't exactly what he'd asked – he wondered if Dad had already a clue or clues what they were doing – but he guessed it was an answer after all. What Dean said implied that Dad wasn't aware. At the same time, it was a warning that everything between them would be over if Dad found out.

The thought was a sobering one. "I'll act normal, I swear," Sam said solemnly. "Dean, swear that we'll never stop doing this? That you'll never stop loving me?" He bit his lip as he waited for his brother's answer.

* * *

Oh, god, talk about flinging it all out there, just like that. If Sam had been a girl or a dude Dean's age, such questions would have been deliberate attempts at entangling him, and Dean would have been pissed at the implied entitlement. But this was Sam; the questions were ingenuous, childlike. He was probably too young to be able to consider how tomorrow could find them in any number of places or situations totally unlike this lazy day of driving around doing nothing. And that was just tomorrow. Then there was the day after, and next week, next year, ten years from now, if they survived that long. 

"Of course I'll always love you, Sam, I swear. As long as I live. Never doubt that, no matter what happens. You're my family, my blood. And this..." Dean used his right hand to indicate himself, Sam, _them_. "As long as it stays between us and it doesn't get out of hand..." He couldn't swear to never end it. Not with a 14-year-old on his hands, who'd never even kissed a girl and had almost all of his growing up in front of him. "I never want it to end, either. You..." What could he say, that Sam was hot? That wasn't right, on so many levels. "It feels so damn good when we... _you know_." Echoing Sam's choice of words, Dean let it be a gentle tease. "You know, and I know, there's nothing like touching you, when you quiver and moan and fucking come all over us... Sam..." 

Dean had to adjust himself then. Two seconds of suggestion and he was hard and dripping. "Pull over, or wait for gummy worms?" he winked, breathing quickened. "It's not gummy any more." 

* * *

Not sure what Dean could possibly mean with 'it getting out of hand', Sam decided to ignore that part. "I never want it to end either," he said happily. Then Dean mentioned Sam moaning and coming all over them, and Sam's breathing hitched as his dick sprang to attention.

Sam bounced in the passenger seat. Finally, they were on their own and Dean seemed ready for him. He'd waited for this moment since they'd left the parking lot. Of course, Dean had wanted to drive the Impala, but by now Sam considered that he'd indulged his brother and his new car enough.

"No gummy worms," he panted. "Pull over," Sam pleaded. "I want to touch you and you to touch me, please." 

* * *

No expecting any other answer, Dean still hissed a, "Yes," as he scanned the road and surroundings for somewhere they wouldn't be interrupted. So far, they hadn't passed or met anyone on this road, but in broad daylight he wasn't taking any chances. To the north, he noticed a weather-beaten old house and leaning barn, the trees near it unkempt, the whole place signaling 'abandoned'. He should probably check it for squatters, but otherwise it was the perfect place to park. 

Five minutes later, Dean had circled the place and pulled the Impala between the back of the house, away from the road, and some old shade trees, some variety of birch, he thought. He put it in park and switched off the engine. It was quiet. Nothing but the breeze and some birds. Perfect. Beside him, both happiness and lust radiated from Sam's face. His too-small tee-shirt rode up, not hiding that in his too-loose jeans, an old pair of Dean's, he was hard. Had that boy grown again?? Dean widened his eyes deliberately at the ridge behind Sam's zipper. 

"Back seat, Sammy. And then get naked," Dean ordered. No use getting started, then having to interrupt themselves. Once they touched, he wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything else but Sam's lithe body and hard dick and the way he kissed. Setting the example, Dean slithered over the seat, careful not rack himself or kick Sam, and made himself at home in the back. Sure, he'd done this before, but never with his brother. Anticipation hardened his nipples and his erection to the point of pain. 

Sam turned around, probably trying to figure out getting his gawky limbs through without tangling them. "Car sex, Sam. Not to be missed. Hurry!" Dean said it playfully, unbuttoning his jeans and reaching inside.

* * *

By the time Dean had made sure the place was deserted, Sam was going crazy with need. His fingers were shaking so hard that it took him three attempts before he managed to grasp the tab of his zipper. Half of it had broken off a while ago, but the jeans were still good otherwise – and they used to be Dean's. Although they were loose-fitting on his gangly body, they were tight over his crotch now. 

Impatient to follow his brother's example and get naked, Sam pulled at the zipper – and a loud yell escaped from his mouth. Tears shot to his eyes when he looked down and saw that he'd trapped his dick in the teeth. It hurt like hell, but the embarrassment was even worse than the pain. This hadn't happened to him since he'd been four!

After the initial agony began to fade, Sam looked up. Dean's face was unreadable. Narrowing his eyes, Sam hissed, "I'll kill you if you laugh!"

* * *

Oh, no! Now what? Dean groaned. He'd just kicked his jeans and underwear off, the scent of his male musk filling up the enclosed space, so ready to feel Sam's smooth skin under his hands and against his body when Sam yelled and what–? Cried? Tears ran in rivers from the inside corners of his eyes. Had he already come? No, that was a cry of pain! Dean's senses did their best to slog into full alert. 

"What is it, what's wrong?" he asked his brother, who hissed at him not to laugh or else. Looking down, Dean saw the problem and cringed. He also had to bite back a giggle. Dear jesus on a tortilla – caught in his zipper. "Oh. Shit. Not good." Sam wasn't really doing anything to free himself. He must be in agony, too scared of making it worse to move. "Do you... um... Do you need my help?" 

* * *

Of course, Dean could hardly keep a serious face. What was worse was that Sam couldn't afford to growl at his brother as he really needed his help. He still had his hand on the zipper, but he couldn't bring himself to yank it down and free himself. 

Shit, this had happened to him once before – when he'd been four years old! Dean had 'rescued' him back then, too, and... kissed it better, kind of. Not his dick, of course, but he'd hugged and petted Sam, then taken him out for an ice cream. The memory lifted his mood instantly.

"If you... yeah, please, help me, would you?" Sam asked, dropping the defiance and looking at Dean openly. "And afterward, maybe you could kiss it better?"

* * *

That's right! Sam had once done this when he was barely past toddlerhood, Dean remembered. "Guess I was right about being able to dress yourself with as much skill – or not – as when you were four." Before Sam could scrunch up his face in annoyance, Dean said, "Just kidding. Yeah, I'll help you, poor baby." He reached over, just examining at first – ouch! – trying to figure out how the hell Sam had managed such a feat. Zipping, that was one thing, but _un_ zipping? It seemed like Sam had caught some looser skin under the zipper pull, then somehow, in the teeth right below. The fly was about half-open, Sam's dick directly behind, attached and pinned. A small fold of foreskin was trapped. Dean shook his head and shifted so he could grasp the denim flap with his left hand.

"There's nothing for it, Sam. I'm going to have to yank it up again. Brace yourself." Immediately Dean pulled the slider up two inches, wishing he didn't have to touch Sam's penis to hurt him, though he was helping him, too. Sam flinched and hissed. A short row of red teeth-marks was bracketed by darker lines from the slider. He was mostly free, but for a few hairs, and they just had to pull out. "That's gotta sting like a bitch. But see, all done. You're fine." 

On his open, flat palm, Dean balanced the wounded organ. Soft, it was what he guessed was about averaged sized for an adult man, not bad for a kid that age. The velvety texture made him want to run his fingertips all over it, play with the sleeve of skin he didn't have, till it burgeoned with a rush of blood. But no, not today, not after that. He leaned down and kissed the slit peeking out, but no more. "Better?" Feeling generous, Dean smiled up at his brother. "Now you know why you don't go commando, especially in jeans. Well, should we make a run for gummy worms?" Having to perform that little manipulation on tender parts had effectively taken care of Dean's erection. He reached for his boxers. 

* * *

The procedure was as ugly and painful as Sam had known it would be. Being fourteen instead of four didn't make a difference – except that he couldn't remember blaming himself for being so clumsy ten years ago. Sam forced a smile at Dean's joke about his capabilities as a toddler. It relaxed him enough to breathe again, but when Dean pulled the zipper up, then down again, he stiffened and yelped in pain.

When it was over, Dean held Sam's flaccid dick on his hand and gave the tip a gentle kiss. Sam leaned against his brother, feeling comforted while the stinging sensation slowly faded. "My hero," he whispered against Dean's chest, blushing a little. "I'll never go without underwear again." Sam shuddered, but now that the pain had gone, he felt his spirits returning. "Maybe I should wear your undies," he looked up at Dean and winked, then blushed even more. "I, um, seem to have grown down there."

Dean reached for his boxers, but Sam put a hand on his brother's arm. "Wait. I may need a minute, but, hey, I'm a teenager, right? I'll be horny again in no time. As for you, I'm sure I can do something that makes your gummy worm ungummied." He hesitated. "If you want that?"

* * *

A bit over-the-top though it was, Sam calling him his hero brought a rush of warmth and pride to Dean's chest. He sometimes missed the days of being Sam's guide and protector in all things, the guy with the answers. There hadn't been any reason for it since the early days of their 'playing'. Once having experienced the intense pleasure his body's changes could bring just a few times, Sam's initial embarrassment-turned-wonder was long gone. That wasn't to say that having a more experienced partner was a bad thing! When Dad was away, they'd fool around till they could come no more. 'Stop thinking about it!' Dean told himself. But it was too late: his dick filled and rose, and his need yammered in his brain.

It was hard to tell if Sam's request to borrow Dean's underwear was a come-on or genuine. It sure as hell sounded sexual, but in light of a metal-scraped wang? "I suppose I could loan these to you for today, since you're wounded and all." Dean was about to hand over his plaid boxers when Sam winked and made a crack about how much he'd grown, 'he' meaning his junk. No question about what he was after now. 

"'Ungummied'?" Dean repeated, amused at Sam's innuendo. "Too late. Look..." Dean waited for the slanted eyes to glance down before he cracked, "No more Mr. Worm. Now he's Mr. Happy. Or he'd like to be." There were plenty of things Sam could do to pleasure him; he'd just have to figure out how to return the favor without touching the accident site. "Um... Sam... You may be horny, but if anything feels bad or wrong, you tell me right away, alright? This _is_ your manhood we're talking about here." 

With that, Dean lay back on Baby's bench seat. "C'mere..." He held out his arms. "Lay on top of me for a while. Need you, Sammy..." This interval hadn't kept them apart for months or anything, not like sometimes when Dad was between hunts or stuck in massive research, poring over old books night and day and not leaving them alone long enough to dare. They had separate beds, too, so even the slightest physical closeness was not an option. Two weeks without any mutual touch was still far too long. 

Waiting for Sam to get himself into position, Dean lightly stroked himself a couple times. He reached lower and rolled his balls. Just that brought a drop of glistening moisture to his slit. He said nothing, but he didn't have to. Sam's eyes raked over Dean's naked body like he was just as needy. 

* * *

Sam giggled when Dean explained that 'Mr. Worm' had become 'Mr. Happy'. At the same time, watching this happen made his dick twitch, but he wasn't hard. The memory of the pain was still too present in his mind. For now, he was happy to do whatever Dean asked him to. And later... he grinned. Even if his dick remained sore, he could always remind his brother that being stroked off wasn't the only way for Sam to cum. He held his breath. Maybe he could even convince Dean to fuck him this time...

Dean wanted Sam on top of his body. He held out his arms to hug Sam, then moved one hand down to stroke himself and fumble with his balls. Sam thought he'd never seen anything as hot as Dean doing himself. It had already blown his mind the first time Dean had done this – for him. Sam shivered; what if he'd never brought up the courage to ask his brother to show him how his body worked? He couldn't any longer imagine life without the pleasure they gave each other, even though it happened only every few weeks when Dad was away.

Sam knew that his smile must look stupid and goofy, but he was in heaven when he stretched out on top of Dean on the Impala's back seat. Gods, Dean felt good! And he smelled good. Sam inhaled his brother's musky scent, a mixture of fresh sweat and arousal. 

"So good, Dean," he groaned and pressed his hip against his brother's groin to provide friction.

* * *

"Mmmm yeah, Sam," Dean moaned. They'd done some rolling around before, but usually it was Dean who was on top. Sam wasn't hard, which was different, too. No doubt he was still stinging from his mishap. Dean wondered if he would be later, because yeah, he needed this now, but he'd never been selfish with anyone he was with willingly, let alone Sam, and he wasn't starting that now. To get off when his lover didn't, didn't strike him as right.

Sam pressed his bony hip down against Dean's groin, a good start, and that was enough permission to grind upwards. Taking one of Sam's taut little butt cheeks in each of his hands, Dean pulled him in harder, and he got harder, the contact kicking his libido up another notch. In their position, Sam's junk was mashed against Dean's hip, and he'd know if Sam's dick so much as twitched. As it was, his was busy smearing clear-slick on them, and he rolled his lower body to concentrate the drag. He adjusted the cant of his pelvis and found an angle that allowed all the screaming nerve endings in that spot just under the frenulum to slide up and back across bone and skin. Each time, he moaned at the top of the slow slide, shivery with the tingling jolts it sent to the base of his spine.

Sam stared down at him, his expression almost disbelief, panting through an open mouth. "You feel good, on me, up there," Dean told him, eyes half-lidded. He got his thighs apart, wiggling his ass toward the front of the car, and let Sam's body slot between them, something he'd never allowed. It was okay, the wiry body no threat. Dean had the strangest urge to hold onto him like a lifeline, take his pleasure off whatever part of Sam he could rub up against and shoot all over him. It was kind of filthy, like he was a dog, an animal. "C'mon, do something, Sammy. Kiss me, hump me... Whatever, just move!" 

* * *

Sam wasn't hard when he lowered his body on top of Dean's, but he was getting there. His hands on Sam's butt cheeks, Dean pulled him down, and the frantic rubbing of their bodies against each other made Sam's dick fill out quickly. Although he still felt the sore patches, the pleasure soon cancelled out the slight burning of the raw skin.

Dean groaned every time he thrust against Sam's hip, and the sound of his brother's desire made Sam dizzy. Then Dean moved and opened his legs so that Sam could slide his thigh between them. It brought their groins closer together and Sam moaned as he pressed his wet dick against Dean's hip. He was leaking so much that it felt as if he were cumming already. "Feels good, too," he gasped as he pressed down on Dean.

It was weird, new and exciting to be the one calling the shots. Sam would have never expected Dean to let him be 'on top', and he loved his brother for his trust. After all, Sam didn't know very well what he was doing yet, but Dean seemed to enjoy it very much. He even invited Sam to do more, suggesting kissing and humping. 

Humping, well they were doing that already. Kissing... Sam smiled, then he leaned down and bit Dean's lower lip very gently before kissing a trail down his neck, nipping at his collar bone, and licking across Dean's chest before latching onto a peaked nipple and sucking hard. 

"That's it," he gasped when Dean hissed and bucked up against him. "Show me how much you want it!"

* * *

At Dean's prompting, Sam applied his mouth, as Dean had hoped. There was something beautiful in the insecurity of those first tentative touches, a nip to Dean's lower lip, over his collarbone, the trailing of lips lower across his sensitized skin till hot suction closed over his pebbled nipple. "Mmmmwwwah!" he expelled. "Oh god yes! Please, more!" 

Sam's encouragement to _show me how much you want it_ punched into his consciousness, setting him loose to arch and flex his back and torso, pushing his pectoral and its pink peaked tip more firmly against Sam's mouth. Dean clamped his hands into the meat of Sam's ass and kneaded for all he was worth. The pleasure of feeling Sam growing erect against him and leaking trickles of pre-come was all his, such a fucking turn-on, and Dean rocked against him, steady, almost like thrusting. 

Not wanting to hurt Sam, in case the friction was to much, Dean forced his pace to slow, a hip-roll at a time, till he was shaking and sweating with the effort to hold back. "Sammy, love you, love this... It's so fucking hot!" He didn't dare mark Sam, so Dean licked at his long neck when he came up for air. Oh hell... "I need... gotta come soon, my balls hurt so bad, so full of cream."

* * *

Seeing and feeling his brother so aroused was as much of a turn-on as Dean's thrusting and thereby stimulation of Sam's dick. He didn't really need Dean's encouragement, but when Dean begged Sam to give him more, Sam sucked harder on the stiff peak. The nipple tasted salty, and Sam licked and soothed it with his tongue before biting down, then blowing on it. 

Dean's shudders and moans made Sam's own dick surge more pre-cum, and he pushed it against his brother, the pleasure spiking when Dean announced that he needed to cum, that his balls were full of cream...

"Yes!" Sam cried out when the thought of Dean's cream gushing between them pushed him over the edge. "Nuh, nnh, Dean, nuuughhh! I need you to cum with me, now!"

* * *

"Oh fuck, Sam!" Dean moaned, his orgasm gathering force between his legs and in the muscles of his thighs. "So close... So good..." Teeth pinched his nipple, air gusted over it, making it harder yet, harder like his cock which was so close to bursting Dean could taste a metallic edge, and he struggled to last one more second, and another. 

Writhing on top of him, Sam cried out that he needed Dean to cum with him, and hot sticky-wet jets smeared the non-existent space between their bellies. Sam's body had gone stiff as a board poised in mid-hump as he shot load after load, his eyes dark, moist, teeth bared. 

It was welling up now; something broke and Dean flipped them as best he could in the too-small space. Sam was still cumming and he already lost a spurt before he found his place on top of his brother, between his legs, their dicks aligned and pressed together in the dripping puddle of pre-come and spunk, their too-tight balls brushing, too. He could hear how he was gasping in an unmanly way, saying, "yeah" over and over, just like how he was awash in such feelings of love Dean thought he might lose his mind; it was already too late for his heart. 

A wordless howl tore from his chest and it was like his balls broke. He just came and came, rutted against Sam and coated him in his love, kissed his panting mouth and probed the inner surfaces. While his hips shuddered and his balls pumped out the last dregs, Dean grabbed onto Sam's shoulder and arm too hard, but then he went limp and crashed down full-length. "Sammy, love you... best ever... little brother..." 

No, Dean wasn't about to tell Sam how he felt, because he didn't do silly girly things like that, and only in mid-orgasm did his mind allow him to go there. A man couldn't help what he said when he was cumming his brains out, could he?! But, he could steal more kisses and lick, and he did. Too soon, they'd have to pull apart, clean up their mess.

* * *

Sam thought he was almost 'done', but when Dean flipped them over, his cock pulsed again and heaved more thick fluid between them. Dean was writhing and moaning, adding to the mess, and Sam clawed at his brother's butt, gripping him tight, pulling them together with all the strength he could muster – quite a feat given how rubbery his limbs felt.

Dean howled, then cried, groaned out how much he loved Sam. Too winded to respond, Sam just smiled and stroked Dean's sweat-soaked neck and back. He was pinned down by the strong body, and it felt good. Safe, warm, protected, loved – and infinitely sated. Dean stirred, and Sam thought they'd soon have to get up, but he didn't want to. "Stay," he whispered and wrapped his arms around his brother. 

* * *

His heartbeat decelerated, and Dean found himself sprawled face-down and sweaty across the back seat, Sam under him in a like state. Their frantic frottage had ended in a spectacular mess. Mostly, it was between them. "Damn... Needed that." Sam grabbed at his ass just as Dean came and made no move to let go of him. He brushed Sam's parted lips, once, again, licked them. Of course getting off was the goal, but after, or between times, Dean never felt the awkward need to get away he sometimes did with others. 

Raising his chest a fraction, Dean murmured, "Wrap your legs around me." They moved heavy limbs till he was resting between Sam's thighs. "Such long legs on you..." Sam's hair was dark with sweat, too. It was really warm inside the car, with the sun shining down and their body heat pervading the enclosed space. Dean took a second to roll the window down a few inches before turning his attention back to his brother, kissing him again, sliding his tongue between Sam's lips. He wasn't hard, maybe twitching a little, but it didn't matter, and it wouldn't be long. Wrapping his arms around, under, Sam, Dean cradled his head in one hand, kissing down into his sweet mouth and holding his eyes. 

Always eager, Sam responded, soft little grunts punching the air. Dean couldn't get enough of making out, and of Sam's hands gliding over him, raising gooseflesh in their wake. He was breathless again. "You'd really let me do anything I wanted to you, wouldn't you?" Dean asked. It was no accusation, more like awe. He curved around and sucked Sam's earlobe into his mouth, the action as much of a turn-on to him as if he'd had it done to him. Getting into the idea, his spine and hips began to roll again. 

* * *

Sam couldn't imagine anything that would feel better than being laid out on the back seat of Dean's beloved Impala with Dean on top of him. While they'd been rubbing against each other, straining for release, Sam had been on top, his hands roaming over his brother's body and his mouth making love to Dean's nipple. Now that their positions were reversed, Sam had access to Dean's back and butt, and he planned to make the best out of it. 

Touching his brother's firm flesh, warm, supple skin, here and there roughened by scar tissue, over hard muscle, Sam reveled in feeling Dean. He inhaled the scent of their fresh sweat, Dean's muskier than his own, and incredibly arousing even though Sam thought he was sated. _For the moment._ Already, Dean was rolling his hips again, and Sam grinned as his dick showed definite interest. 

Then his breathing hitched when Dean suggested that Sam would let him do anything he wanted to him. He swallowed. Did Dean actually mean...? Sam had brought it up a few times that he wanted his brother to 'take' him. So far, Dean had refused, but maybe he had changed his mind? Maybe owning the Impala had triggered a change? A man who owned a car was different from a teenager without a ride, after all. It was probably wishful thinking from Sam's side, but he felt his hole contract at the thought of being filled with his brother's dick.

"I'd let you," Sam panted, rock hard again. "Tell me, Dean, what would you like to do with me?" he rasped.

* * *

Sam's hands on his butt were plenty distracting, although Dean loved it, from Sam. Those fingers now stoking his cheeks. He almost didn't hear the question. The intent expression on Sam's face made him blink, and he tried to concentrate. "I'd do all kinds of things to you, Sammy... Like this..." Dean kissed the side of his neck, nuzzling the soft skin. "If I could, I'd mark you... all over. And do like this." Dean gave no warning, just leaned and bit Sam's nipple, than flicked the bud several times with the tip of his tongue. 

"And you know what else I'd do? Lick your belly and on down..." Dean slithered lower in relation. His voice was raw, maybe from whatever noises he'd not been about to suppress earlier. He dragged his tongue through the slick mess on Sam's stomach, then dipped his first two fingers in it. Breathed out hot, as if he were making frost on a window. Centered in the trembling plain of his flat abdominals, Sam's navel looked edible, and Dean rimmed it, poked inside, scooped out their combined semen. When he looked up, Sam was panting, staring down his own torso. He'd pushed his thighs as wide as he could on his own, presenting his groin, which was where Dean was headed anyway.

"Guess that leaves..." Sam tensed, as if he didn't know if what Dean was going to do next would be bad or good. His hands fisted at his sides. Dean trailed his cum-coated fingers lower and lower, past Sam's dick which was alive and growing, past his sac, down the raised seam of his perineum, to touch his nearly hidden little hole. So warm! Sam's body always radiated heat, and his puckered sphincter seemed to be a source, or a vent. "Gonna take care of you, make it so good for you." Dean meant every word of it. He licked his lips, which tasted of them, combined, salty and oily and bitter. 

Wiggling his a fingertip through the ring muscle, Dean gathered his brother's balls into his mouth, and sucked. The clench around his finger tensed, then gave, so he penetrated steadily to the second joint. Sam's hips pitched. Grinning around Sam's testicles in triumph, Dean began to move his digit in and out, in and out. 

* * *

If Sam had expected an answer in words, he'd have been disappointed. As it was, however, Dean did him better than that. "Oh yes, show me!" Sam exclaimed eagerly when Dean kissed and nuzzled his neck. 

"Mmmmhhhh-huh?"

Sam yelped at the sudden sting. Had his brother just – bitten his nipple? Dean's tongue teased the sore tip, and Sam gasped. Before he could call for Dean to make true on his suggestion of marking him all over, Dean licked down his belly and lapped at the puddle of their cum. Sam's breathing hitched, from the incredible sensation of Dean's tongue prodding and licking out his navel as well as from the image.

Trembling hard, Sam was caught between wanting this to continue forever and Dean moving his mouth lower to his...

"Nnnnuuuhhh, yes, Dean, oh yes, please...!"

Lifting his head up so he could watch Dean blowing him, Sam frowned when Dean bypassed his straining dick. 

"Dean?" Sam whined, not sure what his brother was up to. He tensed and balled his hands into fists, holding his breath – and then releasing it in a hiss when Dean's cum-coated fingers brushed over his hole.

"Oh god!" He almost missed Dean's words, something about making it good, but that was a given with Dean. Sam cried out when his brother's finger penetrated him; he pushed back, willing the intruder deeper. Wet heat engulfed his balls and Sam's hips bucked. Groans and grunts escaped from his mouth, sounds that he couldn't have imagined himself making only a short while ago. Even now, he'd never cease being amazed what noises Dean could draw from him.

Then Dean began to fingerfuck him in earnest, and Sam thrashed his head, unable to stop moaning.

"Oh yes, please, oh Dean, please, more, please, please, ohgodIloveyoujustdon'tstop, another finger please, Dean..."

* * *

"...mMMmm..." Dean didn't let Sam's nuts free from the circle of his lips as he moaned. That didn't stop the drool from escaping. It oozed shiny and wet over Sam's hole and into his crack, pooling under him on the seat. This was the only activity Dean would willingly allow to dirty up his Baby. 

...What? He was thinking about the leather seats while teabagging and finger-banging his little brother?! Not for long. Moaning louder, throatier, he vibrated the velvety sac to the core with the resonance of his sound. With a finger inside his incredibly sensitive entrance, Sam whined and writhed. He responded so beautifully, already begging for more like he would die without more. Taking his time to swirl his tongue around Sam's balls, applying a little suction, pull-and-release, Dean caught his own saliva on his middle finger, pushing it upwards again so the index finger could spread it little by little into the inside. A handful in truth, Sam met the thrusts of his hand with emphatic bucks of his hips, still begging for more.

And Dean had promised – promised to make it good. First, he needed air, and he wasn't all that gentle in sucking just before he let go; some instinct triggered to maul with his mouth and he needed... Between his legs, Dean ached with pent-up blood and seed, just _need_. He knew this feeling, he wanted so bad to fuck right now, to sink into another's willing body, take them, love them, if just temporarily, and cum with them, in them. Not 'them'. _Him_. It had never been as perfect as all that but this person, this kid, this boy, had the potential...

Only, Sam was a virgin. And his brother. And Dean must never do that. Nor would he hurt Sam – or he might never want to be touched like that again, and his dirty-innocent passion should never be lost. But he would give Sam as much as he dared. 

Two fingers proved more difficult, full of false starts. Five minutes later, though, he'd worked in his thicker middle digit. Twisting his hand, Dean leaned down to nip at the tendons in Sam's inner thigh. "How's that feel, baby?" he breathed. "Getting your back door loved?" Dean applied more spit and sped up. In and out and in and out and... there, he felt the bump inside that would make Sam freak. Just once, he rubbed across the little gland. 

* * *

"Mmmmhhh... Oh yes... Dean..." Sam was in heaven – at the very least on the way there. With Dean's mouth making love to his balls and the strong finger stroking inside him, he couldn't stop moaning and writhing. A trickle of saliva leaked down his crack, caressed his hole, which was possibly even more sensitive than his dick. Oh god, it felt so good!

Dean went on laving Sam's balls, then the suction and tongue-strokes turned a little rougher, making Sam crazy, and paused. About to whine and demand that Dean continue, Sam's eyes bugged when he saw his brother wetting a second finger. "Nnuuuhhh, Dean!" he whimpered. He needed it so much! 

During the short interruption before Dean started wiggling in two fingers, Sam wondered how he could ever make it up to his brother. Dean loved being licked by Sam. How much better would Dean love it if Sam licked his hole? Smiling to himself, Sam decided that he'd try that soon. If the pressure in his balls was any indication, 'soon' probably meant within the next ten minutes...

The second finger didn't hurt, but it felt... different. Dean went slowly, gifting Sam's balls with a gentle lick now and then, until Sam gasped when both digits slid smoothly into his body. This was new and incredibly arousing, and it was Dean, his beloved Dean, doing this for him. 

A sharp nip at his thigh brought him back from his musings. Dean was doing this for him, and Dean had just asked him a question. "How's that feel?" Sam repeated, barely able to form a single coherent thought now. "Fucking fantastic is what it feels like," he pressed out between gasps and moans. 

Apparently, that was the answer his brother wanted to hear. Dean rewarded him with speeding up, and then...

"AAAaaaahhhhhhhh!!! MMMmmmmmhhhh!!! Dean! Dean!!! Deeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaa..." 

Sam's vision turned white.

* * *

He had found ground zero. Sam wailed long and loud, limbs seizing. At the very last second, Dean leaned forward again to slurp Sam's shiny-wet glans, then more, into his mouth, moving up and down on it. Tasted so sweet! He couldn't get enough. Almost right away, thick cum gushed to fill him and more, and Dean swallowed, lest he choke or it backed up into his nasal passages. The grip around his fingers squeezed so tight they were almost forced out, but he kept up the motion of pulsing down on that spot on the inside. All around him, he could see green from the countryside, the car's tan interior, and his vision wavered a bit from sweat or tears of effort. The center of everything, though, was Sam, who shuddered and rode it out, and then flopped back. 

Dean waited till no more cream came forth, then began to tongue-clean Sam. When he chanced to look up, the kid's eyes were closed and he wasn't moving other than to breathe. "Sam...? Sam!" 

* * *

_"Sam...? Sam!"_

The voice came from far away. Through the mist in his ears, it took Sam a while to recognize that his brother was calling out for him. It sounded a little worried, so he opened his eyes although he was sooooo tired.

Facing up, the first thing Sam saw was the ceiling of the Impala, and he jerked fully awake immediately. And yes, still settled between his legs, there was Dean, looking at him, with an expression on his face that was at the same time concerned and incredibly smug. Sam grinned. He was so nicely relaxed that he just couldn't resist teasing his brother a little.

"Dude, that car is so totally awesome..."


	2. Chapter 2

_"Sam...? Sam!"_

The voice came from far away. Through the roaring in his ears, it took Sam a while to recognize that his brother was calling out for him. It sounded a little worried, so he opened his eyes although he was _sooooo_ tired...

Facing up, the first thing Sam saw was the ceiling of the Impala, and he jerked to the present immediately. And yes, still settled between his legs, there was Dean, looking at him, with an expression on his face that was at the same time concerned and incredibly smug. Sam grinned. He was so nicely relaxed that he just couldn't resist teasing his brother a little.

"Dude, this car is so totally awesome..."

* * *

"Baby's the best, and so are you, Sammy baby," Dean rasped. "I think you passed out for a minute, or something. Can't believe how much you came..." He showed his tongue, still faintly coated with silvery-white spunk, then grinned. "Gonna be tasting that all day." 

Sam relaxed on the seat, stretched out as far as his long legs would allow. Still recovering, Dean supposed. He'd been aching hard before, and watching Sam, tasting Sam bust a nut had made it more urgent. At his peak, he'd yelled love, which was freaky, but also satisfying, to know Sam was so trusting of him, and that his orgasm rocked him that hard. His brother writhed so sexy, unconsciously grinding with not just his hips but up his spine, his belly, shoulders, everything. Okay, so it was a strange thought but Dean had always been attracted to chicks who weren't shy about moving their bodies, working what they'd got. At his age, Sam didn't even know what that meant, but yet he did it, a feast for Dean's eyes only. 

"You see what you do to me?" Dean reached down, grasped his flushed and leaking erection at the base. His balls were right up tight and he used the side of his hand to push the mass of them down a little. Just the touch set off a groan, an abortive thrust, he could feel his eyes rolling back. "I gotta cum... Hurts... so good... C'mon touch me please Sammmeeeeee, uuungh!"

* * *

Although it wasn't the first time Dean had asked to be touched, Sam felt once again almost overwhelmed by the power rush. A begging Dean was something Sam was sure nobody else had ever witnessed. It was only with Sam that his brother let down his shields, allowed himself to appear vulnerable. Sam didn't think that Dean trusted anyone else so much, not even their Dad.

"Yeah," he whispered, his voice a little hoarse from all the grunting and screaming, "I'll touch you. I'll give you what you need, Dean. Let me love you." 

Dean wouldn't take this kind of talk from anyone but Sam. Emotions, god forbade that Dean ever showed – or even had? – any. Oh, his brother would cuff Sam's head and tell him to stop it with the chick-flick moments already, but Sam could see behind the wall. It was a secret they shared, their love for each other, where 'love' meant so much more than romance or sex. They were, literally, willing and prepared to die for each other. If it was the only way to save one of them, the other wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice himself. Sam was sure that it wasn't because of Dad drilling into Dean to protect his younger brother that Sam knew Dean would give his life for him. And although it had never been said out loud that Sam would do the same, Sam knew that he wouldn't hesitate to die for Dean.

Their life was a hard one, despite the fact that they were only teenagers. At age fourteen, Sam thought he was likely more mature than many people grew to be in a whole lifetime. And it was because their lives were under the constant threat of an abrupt ending that he cherished every moment he had with his beloved brother.

It also meant that having fun, and making fun of Dean, was high on Sam's agenda. Shuffling about on the Impala's back seat until they'd more or less swapped positions took some time, but when Sam was kneeling between his brother's spread thighs, he had a wicked idea on his mind and a sweet smile on his face.

"I want you to talk to me," he announced as he bent down to give Dean's swollen crown a first lick. "Tell me what you love most – about the Impala."

* * *

Before Sam would do anything, he insisted that they change places, with Dean half-sitting, half-lying on the seat and Sam between his legs. It gave him a shivery sense of wrongness, opening his thighs like that, being in that position, being seen by another like that, but this was Sam and he wasn't capable of doing anything Dean didn't want and allow, it just wasn't his nature. Hot breath ghosted over his groin, so humid it practically dripped off his balls, like they weren't sweating enough already. His dick lurched toward the heat, too, and spit a string of slick pre-come onto his belly. Dean pushed his hips up and his legs farther apart, more than ready to be licked, or sucked, or whatever Sam was willing to give him with that sweet pink mouth.

Instead, Sam looked up all guileless and Dean would swear, naughty at the same time and asked, no demanded, that Dean 'talk to him', tell him what he liked best about his car. What the fuck? Dean didn't 'talk' willingly, and now?? "C'mon, Sammy, you trying to kill me?" he groaned, and tried for some of his own demanding. "I like... that you're going to suck me off in the back seat of it, like right now. Yeah." His hands clenched and unclenched; what he really wanted to do was grab Sam by the hair and move his head exactly where he needed it most. He curled a hand around Sam's shoulder instead, wordlessly telling him to _go down_.

* * *

After the first taste, Sam continued licking Dean, lapping at the crown and swirling his tongue over the frenulum.

"Trying to kill you?" Lick. "No." Another lick, this one with his tongue flattened, teasing the throbbing vein on the underside of Dean's shaft. "Trying to make you scream?" Sam's tongue delved into the tiny slit. "Definitely." Grinning, he bent down and deep-throated his brother, making Dean produce a squeal-like sound of pleasure.

"Not bad," Sam commented after letting go of Dean's dick. He licked down the length and nuzzled Dean's thighs, kissing them, and then suckling the tightened balls, taking each gland into his mouth and humming around it.

"Mmh, I love how soft your skin is here," Sam said as he nipped the inside of one thigh, then the other. "It's even softer than the leather on Baby's back seat, don't you think?"

* * *

Dean's nerve endings sang with pleasure, so goddamned much, as Sam licked all over the head of his cock and into the slit. He nearly screamed, catching himself and panting like a bellows instead. New sweat cropped up all over his body, prickling under his arms, at his groin, at the small of his back where it was pressed against the seat, and behind his bent knees. 

"Uh... God, Sam, I'm never... gonna look at this seat the same again!" Probably not, now that he'd been with Sam back here – his memories would just be that much fonder – but his baby brother nuzzling his balls and then comparing the texture of his skin to the leather, saying it was softer, it tripped Dean out, and he was already nearly gone with lust. More slick leaked out of him, down his flank. 

"Dude, 'm nowhere near soft," he whined. "So hard it hurts, Sammy... My dick's gonna burst, look at the skin there, huh?" It was another layer of strange, calling attention to his own body, although Dean was never shy about showing it off. All the little blood vessels along the shaft were raised, pulsing. He unconsciously reached up and pinched his own nipple, rolling the peak and pulling at it viciously. He gasped, "I swear, Sam, suck it, or I'm gonna jack it all over your face!" 

* * *

_"Suck it, or I'm gonna jack it all over your face!"_

In the porn mags, the guys always shot all over the girls' faces. Until now, Sam had thought of it as disgusting rather than erotic, but the idea of Dean cumming on his face, the mental image of Dean's semen dripping down his chin, brought a delightful shudder to his empty balls. Yes, Sam wanted that. One day, though, and not now. If Dean jacked off now, on Sam's face or not, the fun would be over. Oh, Dean's recovery time was great, but it was the second time, and Sam didn't plan on letting his brother – literally – off so quickly.

A mischievous grin on his face, Sam leaned forward again and took Dean into his mouth, swallowing him down to the root, then let the throbbing erection slide half-way out and sucked down as hard as he could. Dean threw his head back and emitted a choked cry that made Sam repeat the move, again, and once more. Could he ever get enough of making his brother scream?

His mind noticed, belatedly, that Dean had pinched one of his nipples. He nodded in appreciation. "Play with your tits," Sam commanded, curious if Dean would follow the order. 

Shuffling around in the close space of the back seat, he found a new position with his legs dangling out of the car. It was awkward at first, but he could lie between Dean's spread thighs now, which was definitely an improvement. Sam continued to lick and tease his brother's dick, now and then lapping up the copious secretions drooling from the slit. He'd take Dean deep and suck hard, then tickle the shaft using only the tip of his tongue. From the moans and pants he was hearing, Dean was close to losing it, but Sam made sure he never reached the edge. It was a delicious feeling, and he was far from finished with his plans to drive his brother wild with need.

Once again, Sam ceased sucking when he felt the thickening of Dean's shaft that was the precursor to orgasm. Dean whined when Sam focused on his balls, stone-hard marbles in a sac so tight he feared the skin might burst as he very carefully scraped his teeth over it. Dean held his breath but didn't stop him. As a reward, Sam took each gland into his mouth and probed the ducts with his tongue. Carefully letting go, he licked a broad stripe with his flattened tongue, from behind Dean's balls down to his hole.

When his brother tensed, Sam looked up and smiled at him. "Do you even know what you did to me with your fingers? Let me show you with my tongue."

* * *

By the time Sam finally slid his lips over the head, then further down the swollen shaft of his cock, Dean was close enough to losing it that he feared it would be over. But Sam wouldn't let him come. He didn't know to strangle the base or tug down the balls – instead he kept up a consistent tease-and-stop routine that had Dean cursing and jerking his hips, trying anything to get up into that heat. It didn't work; every time he thrust, Sam would pull back and start again. The day was warm, but Dean shook as if he were freezing. Desperate cries ripped from him again and again, as wet heat and suction pulled him close and then Sam eased off again. 

It was insane, how his little brother had even noticed him working the stiff pink point on his chest. Fuck it – if Sammy wanted a show, wanted Dean to play with his own... tits, what the hell?! – then he was happy to have some attention paid to both burning nubs. He pinched again, flicked both tips with his middle fingernails. It stung, and Dean loved it. Though he was making embarrassing begging sounds, Sam let go of his dick again, damn him, letting the thick heft of it slap down all spit-coated onto his belly, moving lower to his sac, prodding along the sides with his tongue. No one had ever done that to him, and Dean jumped at the sensation of his backed-up cords being stimulated.

Out of nowhere, the last thing he'd ever expected, ever wanted, Sam dragged his tongue lower, under his balls, down, over a thousand nerves that all suddenly needed that warm wet rasp-caress. "Oh my god, Sammy, no! No, you can't, it's not... Nnnnnggg!" Not what – right or decent or that it was too dirty, somehow didn't matter, Dean's legs had already been spread wide and held up in part by the seat-back. Now he was turning himself halfway upside down just to lift his ass and chase Sam's filthy and willing mouth. This unnameable, unspeakable act, he needed it from Sam. This thing that got his brother so hot, only he offered his tongue and it was so soft-slick-twisty-probing, and Dean was going to pass out or go insane if he couldn't have it... right... there. "Need... Sam... my... inside..." Was as far as he could get. Dean closed his eyes, humiliated and yet so horny he was losing little spurts of pre-come. "Whatever you're going to do, do it." 

* * *

Whatever he might have expected was blanked out in Sam's mind by Dean's reaction. His brother was moaning, gasping, trembling under him, sounding as if he might quite literally die if Sam didn't _do it._

Speechless for a moment, Sam needed to recover his single still functioning brain cell. Was this really happening? Oh, Dean had never held back when he was with Sam, but this was, felt different. Dean was totally at his mercy!

Well, there was only one way of dealing with it, Sam's dick and balls agreed with his brain. He slid his arms under Dean's knees and pushed his thighs up, exposing the shy little hole. Wet and shiny from Sam's spit, it seemed even tinier than Sam knew it was, as if it were trying to hide from his tongue.

_Oh no,_ he thought to himself, _don't be afraid of me. I'll show you how good it is._ Out loud, he said, "I'm gonna do it, Dean." If he weren't so desperate himself, too, by now, Sam would be purring with pleasure. "Gonna make you feel so good, Dean. Gonna give you what you need. Trust me..."

Dean's eyes were bottomless pits that were consuming Sam with their hunger and passion. Gods, but his brother _needed_ so badly!

"Open yourself up for me," he whispered. "Let me in..."

Sam licked over the delicate tissues, feeling his own dick swell with heat at the sudden thought of how it would feel to be inside his brother's body. The tiny hole twitched and puckered in response. If Dean weren't so busy moaning and squirming, Sam was sure he'd be yelled at for delaying. As much as he loved keeping Dean on the edge, Sam knew real urgency for what it was. He decided to have mercy – maybe it was also a survival instinct telling him to not let his brother wait any longer – and pushed Dean's legs even higher up.

Dean held his breath and Sam licked at his quivering entrance using only the tip of his tongue. Then, millimeter by agonizing millimeter, he pushed in. There was soft resistance at first, which Sam identified as the outer ring muscle – he'd read up on it, but the feeling compared like nothing to the texts he'd read – then the path grew tighter. This was it, he was really penetrating Dean's body, the most intimate place his brother could possibly have, a place where he'd never let anyone but Sam even _think_ of getting close to.

The thought brought tears to his eyes. With his tongue slowly entering the dark and bitter heat, Sam's heart was bursting with forbidden love for his brother. Suddenly, Dean relaxed. Sam 's tongue slid through the barrier – and Dean howled...

* * *

It was too much, too much sensation and Dean was going to drown in the sea of it. Dean's face was bright red, shame warring with lust and gut-wrenching pleasure. Sam's tongue licked over forbidden tissues, gentle and soft, while the kid handled him with such control. Again Dean's brain re-adjusted its assessment of who enjoyed this kind of thing. Not alpha-male, badass guys like him – or not! Breathy and guileless, Sam's words rolled over Dean, that he'd give him what he needed, and Dean should trust him. White-hot pleasure at having his hole rimmed shot through him. 

The second Sammy's tongue tip entered him, his body went utterly still, rigid. "It, but, no, god... Ah, aah, no, please..." His protests did not good – his body wanted it. "Yeah... Uuuuuhh... !" It tickled, but so much more. Different than being sucked or fucking, less direct. He was... Dean was utterly disturbed to find words, he was being tongue-fucked and so hot for that slide of bendable flesh in and out of his hole. Everything contracted, pulsed, clamped down and he couldn't stop it, not the orgasm ripping load after load from him as Dean sprayed his own chest and face; not the urgent prods into him; not his screams. "Yes, yes..." over and over, "I love you so much! Love you! Oh YES..." 

Dean groaned from his guts at everything – words, breath, come – that ripped from him. His vision grayed. He fought to keep the darkness at bay and lost that round. He felt his butt thump back down on the seat, and the summer day faded into night.

* * *

Dean tensed for a second, his body stiffening, and he cried out. Sam forced himself to stop and listen, but his brother's words weren't coherent. Between 'no', 'yes', 'god', 'please', and sounds that could mean either 'I'll die if you do this' or 'I'll die if you don't do this', Sam decided to continue. If Dean wanted him to stop, he'd find a way to communicate it.

Apparently, he'd made the right call. Sam pushed in all the way, then out again, repeating the slide. His own heart was racing, too, as this was the closest he'd ever come to _fucking._ Sam's hole tightened in envy, and he was tempted to let go of one of Dean's legs to reach for his throbbing dick, but his brother took him by utter surprise: Sam had only stabbed his tongue into Dean a few times when the hot channel tightened impossibly and fluttered, spasmed, as Dean yelled and screamed, thrashing his head and declaring his love over and over while he shot incredible amounts of seed over his chest and belly – some of it even reached his face. 

It took all the force Sam had to keep his wildly bucking brother in place and his tongue inside the clenching hole – something told him that Dean needed the stimulation although he couldn't possibly have anything more to give. He continued licking and prodding the tiny opening until Dean suddenly went limp and heavy, and Sam let him gently down on the seat.

Groans, moans, and other indecipherable sounds flowed from his brother, some from his mouth, some from a place deep in his throat, and they all spoke of utter fulfillment – and exhaustion. Dean's eyes closed and Sam knew exactly how his brother felt. He'd been there only a few minutes ago. His dick reminded him that he'd be on his way there again if a hand would reach down and help out, but Sam didn't want to get off while Dean was out. He wanted it to be his brother's hand or mouth to take him to ecstasy again, and he'd wait for Dean to recover.

Until then, there was something else he could do. Sam smiled to himself as he bent forward and lapped at the thick puddles of cum on Dean's body. It was nectar and ambrosia, and he couldn't wait to shoot his own mess on his brother's muscular abs.

* * *

Dean woke up smiling. He was buzzed and langorous, and by the scent, in the Impala, and Sam was there with him. Huh. They never napped when they were on the road unless they were en route, and he could tell by the sun it was early in the day, which was atypical. 

He cracked his eyelids open... And freaked. Some skinny guy was between his legs, he was hard – damn, he looked young, where had he gotten the money not to mention the balls to approach John to purchase Dean's ass – and Dean suddenly honed in on the fact that he was covered in come and his asshole was slick, not hurting but he could tell there'd been some activity back there already. He hadn't agreed to this! His choices were hard, horrible, and they sucked, but John had never slaved him out before without Dean's consent... Or whatever passed for it. 

"Get the hell off me!" Dean yelled, scooting back. In his beloved car, yet. It had always been in bar restrooms or truck stops or motel rooms, not here! That's right, it WAS his now. Dad had given Baby to him outright. He and Sam had gone for a drive – Sam! Dean looked over at the guy. It was his brother, who looked confused and stricken over being pushed away. Oh, god. And what they had just done. Now he remembered. Fooling around in the back seat. Kissing Sam, the two of them wriggling all over each other like squirrels, fingering Sam's tight, needy little ass and blowing him, and then... 

How could Dean have done that? Let Sam do such a filthy thing? How could he have _liked_ it? Sam knew nothing, but for his sweet mouth to be where so many... He was going to be sick. Shaky hands not working right, Dean pulled the door handle and launched himself naked out of the back seat. "I'm sorry, Sam. So sorry! I never should have made you... " 

Struggling to keep his gorge down, Dean took deep breaths. But the worst was still his own reaction. Semen – his – dripped down his belly and thighs. Jeez, it was even on his face! His cock twitched despite his abject horror and Dean closed his eyes in shame, knowing already he'd never exorcise this demon and all he could do was stuff it away somewhere deep and never talk about it again. "Get your clothes on," he ordered gruffly, not turning. "I'll take you home." 

* * *

The blissed-out smile on Dean's face transformed into an expression of sheer terror before Sam could even blink. One second, Dean was happily out-of-it, the next he yelled at Sam to get off him while he scrambled away from him as far and as fast as he could.

Another second passed, and Dean went from panic to confusion. At least, he recognized Sam now, but why was he apologizing? Why was Dean sorry for... _making him_...

And then, Sam understood. "You didn't..." he started to speak, but Dean cut him off and told him to get dressed so Dean could take him home.

Frowning at first, then scowling, Sam tried to look as big as he could. Suddenly, he felt like the fourteen-year-old kid he was. "I don't wanna go home," he blustered. "A minute ago, you sure as hell didn't want to either. Not that I'd have suggested it, of course," he huffed, then continued, a little more calmly. "Dean, you didn't make me do anything I didn't want to do. When you... touched me inside with your fingers... it blew my socks off. All I wanted was to make it good for you."

Sam bit his lip that was beginning to tremble traitorously. "Please, do we really have to go home?"

* * *

It registered that Sam was as upset as Dean himself was, and that didn't make him feel good, either. His heart ached, but he was a Winchester man and one lapse in that manliness had led to... Well, this fucking disaster. His brother's voice rose higher, got that edge. "I don't know. Don't whine at me. Just get dressed." Dean tried not to snap. Really, he did. 

The wind shifted. Dean shivered as it hit cooling sweat and cum and gooseflesh prickled his limbs. He couldn't just stand there bare-assed all day. Slowly, he turned around and walked the few steps back to the car. The grass here was long and not soft at all, more fibrous and scratchy. Reaching for his clothes, he grabbed his tee-shirt first, using it to wipe the sticky, drying white goo off himself. He was still going to reek of it, but he couldn't do anything about that right now. Regretfully, he remembered the instant before he'd panicked, how Sam had been licking it off him. Goddammit! 

When he finished buttoning his jeans and shirt, Dean took a deep breath. Somehow, he'd have to convey to Sam that it wasn't his fault. There were a lot of things the kid didn't know, would _never_ know about, as far as Dean was concerned. Why he loved and hated the act and the sense of wrongness it created in him was close to the heart of it. 

"Look, Sam..." Shit he was bad at this. Dean squatted down so he could see into the back seat. Sam sat stiffly, with his arms folded, looking away from him. "We're going to forget... That. I never asked you to do that to me," no, not asked – he'd fucking begged and spread his legs and squirmed like a little bitch, "and... we just can't do that again." 

He couldn't stand it, how it made his face burn red. The thing Dean hated most in this life, detested, abhorred, was the thing he could have potentially been so... Well, just like Sam. They were brothers, after all. But no, he was too fucked up. Blinking hard, Dean gritted out, "It's not you. Not your fault. You did nothing wrong. I....I don't..." He shook his head. "You wanted to make it good. Let me tell you, Sam, nothing could ever be as good." Based on how he'd reacted – physically, not psychologically – Dean knew that was a lie as well. And he'd wanted that, too. One more thing he would have to guard against forever. "So... Thanks. For this once." 

Dean firmly shut the lid on that box. When he looked up, he noticed a car in the distance, on the road. "We need to head out, or we could have company in a minute. Get your clothes." Stepping into his shoes, Dean got in behind the wheel. He reached over and opened the glove compartment. There was a spare phone, and a black Taurus 9mm amongst the clutter of forged papers, cassette tapes and old gum wrappers. Nodding to himself, Dean looked in the rearview mirror to check on his brother. 

* * *

Sam's mouth had been hanging open, but now he snapped it shut when his brother told him to stop whining. _He wasn't whining,_ Sam thought indignantly. He folded his arms across his chest, aware that it would look absurd since he was still naked. At least, his erection had flagged, so he didn't feel quite as humiliated by Dean's strange reaction. What the hell was wrong with Dean anyway?

When Dean spoke again, he sounded contrite – and confused. Sam hadn't done anything wrong, and Dean had enjoyed it, but he never wanted it again. It didn't make sense, but it was clear to Sam that whatever he had to say on the matter would be shut down without further discussion. 

Before Sam could even attempt to speak up, however, Dean alerted him to an approaching vehicle, and Sam's jaw dropped again. While he'd only thought of his own pleasure, Dean's hunter senses had warned him of company. Sam blushed. He should have been aware of that car, too! Torn between envy and pure admiration of his brother's highly-developed perception, Sam hurried to struggle into his jeans and shirt, then collected his socks and shoes and moved to the front seat.

The car came closer. Sam looked at Dean worriedly. "Who is it?"

* * *

Satisfied that Sam was getting dressed, Dean started the Impala's motor. A moment later, Sam hopped from the back seat to the front, clothed other than his shoes and socks, which he went to work on. Off in the distance, the indistinct color sharpened into black and white. 

"Shit. I think it's the fuzz." Dean had seen his Dad impersonating officers a bunch of times, but he'd never pass for anything but the greenest rookie recruit currently, which would mean a uniform, and Sam looked his age. "Well, be cool. We'll just pretend we're lost, if they stop us." He put the car in gear and pulled out of the weedy side yard. The car wasn't registered to him, but one of John's aliases and no way was he leading the law back to his Dad. "If nothing else, we'll outrun them." 

For Sam's benefit, Dean plastered a cocky smile that he didn't really feel on his face. The last thing he wanted, well, one of them, was to tangle with cops right now. Jeez, he could still smell his and Sam's combined fluids on him. He supposed that he'd have to get used to this in their line of work, if they were going to stick to mostly-abandoned back roads, that he'd run into the occasional bored officer with nothing better to do. Making sure to keep to the speed limit, Dean turned onto the two-lane highway and drove toward what felt like bad luck. "Okay, piggy, let's see what you make of it..." 

* * *

Sam bit his lip nervously and looked down. Not turning and watching the other car cost him a major effort, but if it really was the police, this was exactly the kind of behavior that would raise suspicion. Dean focused on the road and Sam had no intentions of distracting him. He wanted, however, nothing more than to ask his brother's advice for the worst case.

Sam's mind showed him all kinds of horror scenarios. CPS taking him and Dean into custody was among the harmless ones. The worst his brain came up within the first few minutes they were 'on the run' was that Dean and Dad would go to prison for sexually abusing him, and he'd never see either of them again...

"I'll tell them I wanted this, I mean, sex, with you," he blurted out without thinking.

* * *

Just as Dean watched the cop car drive past and disappear behind a slight hill in his rear view, Sam told him that if anyone tried to take him away, he'd say he wanted it. The sex. It was if a bomb dropped and went off in his guts, the magnitude of it. "Sam, if that ever happens, CPS and stuff, and I'd die rather than let them take you, you will say no such thing, got it? Do you know what 'age of consent means'? How about incest? Huh? Answer me!" 

* * *

The air in the Impala was tense as the police car approached slowly. Then, finally, it drove past them and disappeared. Sam couldn't help thinking while they waited anxiously what was going to happen, and he didn't like what his mind came up with. 

Dean had freaked when he'd noticed the car, fair enough. He'd told Sam to get dressed, and once Sam had realized the potential danger, he'd obeyed. However, Dean had also told him that they'd never do _that_ again, and that declaration had had nothing to do with almost being busted by the cops. So what the hell was going on with his brother?

And then... What Dean had just said... Sam narrowed his eyes and pushed his chin out. "Yeah, I know what 'age of consent is, Dean," he said with what he hoped was an indulgent and slightly bored voice. _Duh._ Was his brother really challenging him about who knew more about legal issues? 

"And I do know what incest is, too, if you were wondering," he added acidly. "I just thought that if anybody asked, it might turn out better for you if I at least tried to tell them that I wanted it instead of letting them believe that you raped me."

_There. Compute that, you jerk,_ Sam thought viciously. He folded his arms across his chest and stared out of the window. Why did they always have to treat him like a small child?

* * *

Jesus Christ. "Nice, Sam." Dean hadn't meant that and it had totally escalated. "That cop'd be a lot more likely to bust us for joyriding or auto theft." 

Dean pressed his lips together over his brother's outburst. It was just as well this had come up. "Don't act like a bitch. It's a very big deal to those fucks who mess with people like us. Nothing you could say would make any difference, other than to make it worse. I get that your intentions would be good, but all they'd say is that I brainwashed you. So IF that ever happens, you say nothing. Not to the cops, the doctors, the social workers... No one. I turned 18 on my last birthday and that only complicates things. We hide this from Dad for a reason. It's just as important, with everyone else. If you can't handle it, then you tell me. Say the word and we'll stop. I'll never touch you again."

Dean wished he could look at Sam, but all he could do was glance sideways. He took the next right turn and hoped he could remember the mile markers. 

* * *

_"Nice, Sam."_

Sam felt his hackles rise even more. "I'm not stupid," he spat. "Of course I wasn't going to, like, when they ask you to step out of the car, I wouldn't say it, only if they accused you of doing it!" He wanted it to come out cool, but it sounded like he felt, a mess. 

Dean seemed to have planned this all along: _"I'll never touch you again."_

"Well, you already said that earlier," Sam made a show out of shrugging, so Dean wouldn't see how much his shoulders, along with the rest of him, were shaking. 

"Take me home as you announced," he pressed out. "Then you and Dad can tinker with your beloved cars and I'll have some time for myself, finally." It was meant to hurt, but somehow, Sam thought it hurt himself more than it would probably affect Dean. Or maybe it would affect Dean, but his brother would never show it. Emotions were a weakness, after all. 

_"Don't act like a bitch,"_ Dean had said. Well, if he treated Sam like a child, Sam would do his brother a favor and behave like one. Trying to blink away the tears, he looked at Dean and pouted. "I don't like you anyway," he announced.

* * *

Despite his warnings not to whine and attempts to make Sam understand exactly what he was in for if 'they', pretty much the whole world, ever got wind of the true nature of their brotherhood, Dean wasn't getting through to him. 'Brat!' he thought to himself, and not affectionately this time. More-so, he saw that despite his physical maturity and the way he handled himself most of the time, Sam was still a not-yet-15-year-old boy who would regress back to toddler-with-more-sophisticated-language when he didn't get his way, or maybe more like, when it was pointed out he wasn't one hundred percent right. He had a prideful streak, and his reaction spoke of how much he had to grow up yet. And maybe Dean wasn't the pinnacle of maturity either, but he had more experience in life, like it or not.

"Yeah, fine. You need time to cool off, anyway. And when you're done throwing a hissy fit, you think about what I said. And I mean really think about it. Maybe it started that way, oh hell, it started by accident, but this isn't some game. Not anymore. Hate me all you want, little man. You were screaming you loved me not an hour ago."

Dean shut up then. He'd let him stew. Sam was never easy to jolly out of a rotten mood, but he'd have to before going home. While the youngest Winchester was probably the most perceptive to emotion, John was more than able to pick up any undercurrent of discord, and he'd pick at it and pick at it, if they didn't resolve it between themselves first. Another look at Sam told Dean he was shaking, whether from rage or trying not to cry or both, he didn't know. Dean just kept driving.

After twenty minutes, he couldn't stand it any longer. While he'd marginally relaxed after the sour adrenaline left over from their near-danger wore off, Dean was going to wind up pissed off himself if this carried on. "So how about some gummy worms, Sam? I see a water tower up there," he pointed. "Next town."

* * *

Fuming at Dean's words, Sam continued looking out of the window as the scenery flew by, pretending not to give a damn. At least, Dean hadn't said he could look right through him, and Sam was grateful for that. His brother could have wiped the floor with him, but he allowed Sam to keep a part of his pride and dignity intact.

Of course, Sam didn't hate Dean! As soon as the words had left his mouth, he felt sorry for uttering them. And as much as he squirmed inwardly at the thought, he had to admit that Dean was right. This wasn't a game. Still, he couldn't just give in, so he stuck out his lower lip and waited. 

Again, Dean had been right: the storm clouds in Sam's head dissipated quickly. After only a few minutes of silence, Sam was throwing hidden – he hoped – glances at his brother. Dean looked calm, but Sam knew him well enough to know that something was going on behind the facade.

By the time Dean suggested they go and find gummy worms, Sam was ready to hug him for finding a way out of this mess. Dean was treating him like he always did, didn't assign blame or anything. His heart ached. How could he have told Dean that he hated him! Suddenly, he _wanted_ to be Sammy, the child who was allowed to crawl on Dean's lap and hug him while his brother ruffled his hair and told him to stop being a girl, when they both knew that Dean enjoyed these moments as much as Sam.

"Gummy worms would be great," he said, and then burst out, "I'm sorry, Dean! Of course I love you!" He looked down and frowned. "I'm such an asshat."

* * *

Apparently the snit was over. Sam turned toward Dean, grin a mile wide, dimples deep and flashing, nearly bouncing in his seat with a childlike exuberance that was rare for him, and agreed to go find what was, after all, his favorite kind of candy. Warmth ran over Dean at seeing his brother's show of happiness.

_Of course I love you! I'm such an asshat!_

"Language, Sam," Dean mimicked John. As much as Dean cussed, especially if he was stressed, he'd be a hypocrite to call Sam on it, and they both knew it. Smiling for a quick moment in return, he admitted. "Hey, we all have our moments." 

As they approached the town, Dean scanned thoroughly for any sort of law enforcement vehicles, seeing none. Just another small town out on the prairie, but big enough to have a couple of convenience stores along the main drag. Dean chose the one next to the cemetery, and pulled up in front, parking parallel to the curb near the corner of the building. Naturally, the Impala turned a couple heads, but he ignored it. "Okay, do you want to come in with me? Or wait here?" 

Not waiting for an answer – Sam could fallow him if he wanted – Dean opened his door and stepped out. He had to pee, so he hoped this place had a restroom. That wouldn't stop him from buying a big bottle of Coke for himself. He was more than aware they were both much in need of a shower. But he'd promised the gummy worms. It made him grin again, the earlier reference to his non-gummy... worm. Already perked up a bit, Dean pulled his shirt down to cover his crotch, and opened the door to the store. 

* * *

Now that the crisis was over and Dean smiled at him again, Sam felt as if a huge weight was taken off his chest. He was tempted to lean over for a quick hug, but decided he wouldn't push his luck, at least not when they were in public, even though it was such a small town. As Dean had pointed out, the fuzz and CPS were everywhere.

"I'm coming with," Sam announced and immediately followed his brother out of the car. "I'll get leather cleaner," he offered with a smug grin. "A family-sized bottle, right?"

Dean was already heading toward the restroom, and suddenly Sam froze inwardly. What if Dean would talk to him again but refused to touch him from now on?

"Dean!" Sam ran after Dean until he was close enough to hiss into his ear. "Do we need a large bottle?" He held his breath and waited anxiously for the reply.

* * *

"You can't talk like that in public," Dean hissed back, detouring around the end of the aisle, pretending to look at the rows of soda in a cooler at the back of the store. He darted his eyes sideways. "And you're standing way too close. We're dudes. Now go get your candy, and the _family size_. You know how you are," Dean made reference to quantity without actually say it. 

Sighing inwardly, Dean headed off again to find the men's room. Poor kid. He was so over-eager today, and all Dean was feeling since their near-miss was the danger they could create for themselves along every nerve. It had been a deliberate move to go way out in the country to be away from prying eyes and ears, and even that hadn't been foolproof. He was a horny teen, too, dammit! He shouldn't have to worry about this shit. But, it was now part of 'watch out for Sammy' and that meant it was part of Dean now, too. His duty. 

How that factored in with him concerning himself with Sam's well-being beyond making sure he was fed, clothes, alive and relatively unhurt, Dean didn't know. Their Dad didn't seem all that concerned most of the time. It was too much to fathom. Maybe some other time, late at night. Sighing, he stood before a urinal and unzipped – carefully – and sighed again as he started to flow. 

* * *

Sam giggled at Dean's reference to his copious spunk. Withdrawing from his brother, he watched Dean swagger down the lane leading to the restrooms – and turned instantly hard again at the thought of Dean unzipping. Maybe they could find another hideaway on the way back home. Since the back seat needed cleaning anyway, why not add to the mess first?

He grinned as he pulled his t-shirt down to hide the bulge in his pants, trying to behave like a 'good boy' would. Sam snorted. If anyone would call him that, he'd feel insulted. One day when he was grown up, he wanted to appear as mean and dangerous as Dean looked to strangers. They didn't know how his brother's knowledgeable hands felt on his dick...

Right. Sam coughed. Car section. Was there a word like 'leather grooming' or what exactly was he looking for? He checked the shelves. Among the many bottles, he found one that contained 'upholstery rinse'. It sounded like what they needed. 

As he sauntered back to the checkout, he walked by a table offering chrome polish paste for a discount. Sam grinned to himself. If Dean paid for the leather wash and the gummy worms, the remainder of Sam's allowance would be just about enough for a tube of the stuff. He'd buy it as a present for Dean.

After telling the cashier that his brother would pay for the cleanser, he paid for the polish and managed to slip the tube under his shirt just as Dean arrived, hoping Dean hadn't noticed it.

* * *

Finished, Dean washed his hands – a very good idea considering he'd had fingers up Sam's butt – and exited the restroom. Sam was standing up front, fidgeting. As he drew closer, Dean could see a large bag of gummy worms and an industrial size of some kind of interior cleaner. He was also sure he saw Sam slip something under his shirt. It looked suspiciously like a tube of lube, but first of all, a place like this probably wouldn't have it and second, Sam probably didn't know about lube. Although, if he did, he'd be more likely to steal it than try to buy it. He wondered if they'd even sell condoms to a kid Sam's age in a small town. 

Picking up the bottle of car stuff, Dean looked at the label. He asked the clerk, "Does this stuff work on leather?" Getting a shrug of disinterest in return, he rolled his eyes and turned to Sam, "I dunno, don't want to ruin the seats." Yeah, that was for sure. Not with cum stains and not thanks to some off-label gunk not made for leather. There were a bunch of different selections, and he found one that seemed to be okay for both natural and man-made materials. 

When he returned to the front a pair of girls a little older than Sam, sisters by the look of them, were eying his brother. The kid was nearly six feet now, lanky and exotic, with his fox-eyes, pointed features and long-ish hair that curled on the ends. Sometimes Dean forgot about how his brother looked to others. Sam wasn't the generic 'pretty' Dean got called so many times it gagged him. He was also turning pink, and the previously apathetic clerk was smirking. One of those girls, the younger one, had a pen and Sam's wrist in her delicate pale fingers, just about to write. Dean had had plenty of phone numbers written on him before – he knew the drill. Now how had that happened so fast? As far as he knew, Sam looked at porn but not real girls. But apparently, they looked at him. 

Dean cleared his throat. Loudly. Twice. He plastered on his best 'I'm sexy and I know it' look and said, "'Scuse me, ladies. Gotta pay." Both of them, barely into their teens, now that he got a better look, dropped their jaws and the one let go of Sam's arm. There was a bunch of giggling, and they retreated. Something in Dean's chest loosened just a little. He counted out his money, picked up the bottle of upholstery gunk, leaving the gummy worms for Sam, and went outside. Revving the engine more than strictly necessary, he peeled out the second Sam was in. 

"So, buddy... Got hit on, huh?" Sam was still blushing, and Dean was amused. "First time?" He grinned wider. 

* * *

Just when he'd thought the day was getting better again, Sam found his mood taking another plunge. He'd checked that the cleaner he'd chosen was recommended for leather, but of course, Dean had never trusted anyone but himself and _maybe_ Dad with the Impala. Sam rolled his eyes at himself for being so naive to think that Dean might trust him. It was probably even worse now that the car was finally Dean's. 

The scowl on his face as he watched Dean heading for the cleaning stuff section still wasn't fierce enough to deter two teenage girls from approaching him. Between a lot of silly giggling, they asked him stupid questions, like, had he seen this movie and what did he think of that actor. Sam had never heard of either, such mundane things weren't part of his life, which he hated with even more of a vengeance than he already did on a good day.

When one of the girls made a grab for his hand, he was so surprised that he froze. Sam knew he was strong enough to tear free, but he was also strong enough to hurt her. Thankfully, at that moment Dean returned. The girl let him go, but somehow it didn't feel right that they were now gawping at Dean – who, of course, had found a better cleaner for his beloved car.

Dean paid and left without another word. Sam picked up the gummy worms and followed him outside. Dean had already started the car, revving the motor impatiently, and Sam felt small and inadequate. He was only a nuisance. It was clear to him that Dean would have rather picked up the two eager girls than feeding his baby brother gummy worms, the baby brother who was too stupid to even pick out car cleaner. 

Sniffing, Sam wiped his face with his shirt sleeve. Sure he'd get yelled at for that, he just shrugged, couldn't be bothered anymore. In a sudden rush of rage, he pulled the chrome polish from under his shirt and threw it into the nearest trash can. It had cost him the last of his money, but at least he could save his brother the trouble of binning it himself. And it would save him the humiliation.

Dean revved the engine again, and Sam climbed into the car. When Dean started joking about the girls hitting on him, Sam just growled, "Shut the fuck up." It sounded as pathetic as he knew he was. Before Dean could tell him again to watch his language, Sam considered his options and settled for his earlier idea of burying his nose in his books while Dean and Dad keeping each other happy with their tinkering.

"Please," Sam begged, trying to sound tired and not pissed off, "can we just go home?"

What the hell was wrong with him anyway?

* * *

Dean snorted. "PMS much?" he cracked. Sam would probably hate that, he knew, but one of these days the kid was going to have to learn to be more neutral. Although, Dean supposed, he was the one person Sam could let fly around. But that meant he'd just have to put up with some big brotherly ribbing in return. "C'mon, Sam, you can tell me. No cute chicks ever want to give you their digits before?" 

Sam's "fuck off" and "let's go home" were a bit much, though. They could still drive around, after all. That was always fun. Dean just shrugged, wondering at how this day had turned sour. This... Whatever was stuck in Sam's craw now, he didn't even know what he'd done this time. Earlier, it didn't take a rocket scientist to understand that Sam had been upset by Dean shoving him off after they'd fooled around. Guilt welled up. He was massively sorry but... How could he even apologize without saying too much about things Sam couldn't begin to fathom? Having Sam... do what he'd done stirred up things Dean couldn't understand, himself. Like, how he could have let his mostly-innocent little brother put his mouth _there_ , where how many men had used him. Hurt him. Dean Winchester was a tough motherfucker and he didn't get hurt, or if he did, he killed the thing that did it. Well. There was no killing involved beyond wishful thinking. He – they – took the money for what he gave and slunk away till next time. 

And then, once again, the overwhelming force of sensation and pleasure when it was... when Sammy did that... In one second, Dean's dick sprung hard and long in his pants, making him grit his teeth. Worse, his asshole pulsed with the same needy throb as earlier, like it was key to everything. He knew that when he touched that little bump inside of Sam, he came totally unglued, which was to say, he fucking came. What if... What if he too would lose it just like that? No. Dean pushed it far away in his mind. He was a man, his sex was about his dick and his balls, period. That didn't make Sam a girl or anything else, just different. 

"Eat your gummy worms, Sammy," Dean tried for casual and nearly choked. Dammit, he'd forgotten to buy himself a soda or better yet, beer. "After all, we came all this way for them." That was a half-truth at best, but then he wasn't exactly up to deep though at the moment. He was thinking of Sam's lips and tongue as he fed himself candy... 

* * *

Sam couldn't even laugh at Dean's silly suggestion of him suffering from PMS. He'd never questioned his sexuality before – never had had reason to. But in this moment, he wondered if he'd rather be a girl. Then he would be permitted to feel... That was the crux, though, he couldn't say how he really felt or what was wrong. Sam huffed. If he were a girl, he supposed Dean would call him bitchy, and that would be all. 

Another thought occurred to him. Earlier, when the police car had first shown on the horizon, there was just no way that Dean could have known it, hunter spidey sense or not. Then why had Dean suddenly become so... weird? Pushing Sam away and barking at him to get dressed so Dean could take him home... Sam's eyes widened as he thought he understood. He'd been licking Dean's hole, and his brother had cum spectacularly. From having his little brother lick a forbidden place. His little brother – _a man._

Dean said something about the gummy worms, and Sam opened the package and started nibbling on one. He thought he'd lost his appetite, but somehow the sweet candy felt soothing: since he could remember, he and Dean had always shared gummy worms. If Dean didn't love him any longer because he was a man, they were at least eating gummy worms together – or not? Suddenly panicking, Sam held the box out to his brother, not breathing until Dean picked one and pushed it into his mouth.

Sam's heart was racing. He needed to know!

"Dean, would you want me again if I were a girl?"


	3. Chapter 3

_Dean, would you want me again if I were a girl?"_

Unable to help it, Dean surreptitiously watched Sam. It wasn't like he had a sucker in his mouth, but still, the vaguely phallic objects went past his lips, he licked them, he swallowed. Dean's face heated and he squirmed in his seat. At least Sam didn't notice. He was a million miles away. Or, he was until he held out the gummy worms, his look intent, like Dean sharing his candy was going to affect the fate of the world. Mumbling a thanks, Dean reached over and helped himself. 

Then Sam asked him something that nearly made Dean spit out his half-chewed sweets. He concentrated on not choking to death and finished his bite. Not want him? Or rather, want him 'again' if he were a girl? Was this what all the teen angst and pissiness was about? Dean ran a hand through his short hair. "First of all, you're not a girl, so don't even go there unless you want me to make you wear make-up and lingerie." 

Dean smirked at his shocked brother, although the idea made him harder than before. Turning serious, he went on, "You think I don't want you? Never think that, Sam. No matter what happens. I'm not saying it's even right, no matter what it feels like when we..." For the first time in his life, Dean almost said 'make love', but he couldn't make himself use that euphemism, "...get each other off, but I will _always_ want you. Your body. Your mouth and hands and your dick, everything. Even when I'm thirty, or a hundred." 

Chances were, he wouldn't make it to 30. Hunters died, often young. He'd had plenty of sex elsewhere, some of it pretty good, none as good as the things he and Sam did together, and Dean knew that until he departed this world, nothing and no one would compare. Grabbing Sam's hand, he shoved it into his crotch. "See what you do to me?" 

* * *

_Lingerie?_ Sam nearly choked on his gummy worm. When he'd regained his breath after coughing, he felt heat rise in his cheeks as well as in his pants from Dean's words. Then, Dean took Sam's hand and pressed it against his crotch, and Sam couldn't suppress a moan.

"Yeah," he whispered hoarsely. All thoughts of Dean possibly not wanting him vaporized as he kneaded the firm bulge behind the zipper and got a groan in return. The Impala wobbled slightly and Sam withdrew his hand.

"Um, sorry about that," he said, then broke into a grin. "Or no, not sorry at all. But do you think you can find us a quiet place? A _really_ quiet place this time, without the fuzz showing up?"

* * *

Well, that got a reaction. Sam coughed and blushed over Dean's remark about putting him in girls' underclothing, and he was keen to get his hand on the hard-on in Dean's pants, not that Dean had expected anything else, not really. "I'm not sorry, either," he told his brother, who pulled away when he swerved a little. "Hey, I tried earlier, to find us a place. Seems like they're going to hunt us down way out in the boonies. Maybe we should pull up in front of the cop shop and get busy there!"

Laughing, Dean put the Impala back on the same road they'd pulled into town on, but he planned to stay on it until they had to turn or miss their own little town. Other than, if they found a likely spot to pull over.

He drove for a while, like he had in the morning when they'd set out, feeling carefree again. Every so often, he reached over and took another gummy worm, but let Sam have the majority. Dean made up his mind to enjoy it while he could, and forget about their real lives. They could pretend to be just a couple of horny teenage boys, couldn't they? Young and in love, he supposed. Well, he loved Sam – as his brother, his caretaker, and his lover. Was that really true? Maybe that was his dick thinking for him again, because it sure _loved_ the things Sammy did to it, and the rest of him.

"Look over here, Sam," Dean ordered when they were well clear of the town and surrounding farmsteads, out into pastureland. He'd contemplated just asking Sam to play with him or suck him while he drove, but that would probably spell trouble. Up ahead, a gravel road ran off to their right, winding around a hill with some sort of open, roofed shelter on top, about a half mile distant, Dean estimated. "Wanna check that out?" They'd be isolated up there, with a good vantage point and plenty of warning if anyone else happened by. His heart rate picked up. Messing with Sam in the open air, maybe there'd be a bench or table or something which they could lie on and revel in each other's naked skin. "And by that, I mean, we should christen the place in the name of Winchester. I know my balls have more to give today, what about yours?" 

* * *

For a second, Sam gawped at his brother before his brain got the message that the suggestion to make out in front of the cop shop was a joke. A little annoyed with himself that he couldn't think well with his raging hard-on, he shook his head and muttered good-naturedly, "Better find that place fast, bro."

The look on Dean's face told him that his brother was as single-minded about a safe place as Sam was. It still took too many miles until Dean finally spotted a promising site. Sam grinned knowingly. As much as Dean loved driving the Impala, there were other needs to consider.

When Dean mentioned, almost casually, how full his balls were, Sam pressed down firmly on his groin and moaned. "Tell me about it," he panted. It wasn't Dean's fault that they'd had to leave in haste before Sam had gotten off, but now he was getting desperate to relieve the pressure in his balls.

An idea suddenly sprung to his mind that he had to share with his brother, but he wasn't sure how Dean would react. "Um, Dean," he began cautiously, "since you brought up christening... Shouldn't we give _Baby_ a proper one, too?" 

Sam lowered his voice to what he hoped was seductive. "I could stroke you off so that you'd spray all over her hood."

* * *

"I'll take that as yesssssss," Dean hissed. He slowed way down, lest he miss the turn, and pointed the Impala up the side road. "You are a little pervert, talk about making a mess all over my baby. Guess you'll be adding to the mess, yourself. Can't wait to see you blow a massive load on that shiny black." If he remembered correctly, it was Sam's 'turn' to cum – he hadn't before when.... Well, never mind that, but he had to be aching with need. The thought of Sam whimpering in abject desperation made Dean's cock throb and leak into the denim trapping it. 

Two minutes later, he parked the car on the side of the shelter – four thick rock pillars, one wall with a fireplace and three half-walls, and a roof – away from the road. The second the engine cut, Dean was on Sam in the front seat, pushing against him and lapping at his salty throat. "Sexy little shit... Drive me so crazy!" 

He just wanted to bite, but no, Dad would see. Grinding his hips into Sam's in the limited space, Dean gasped as their erections butted together between them. Sam blinked at him, and that was as good as an invitation. Low in his chest, Dean groaned his satisfaction and need as he brought his lips across Sam's, still sweet with candy. The slippery tug of his tongue made Dean buck harder, answering with suction and bruising kisses that would leave Sam's lips swollen and red. 

Good, but not good enough. Dean reached past Sam and pulled the door handle. They nearly fell out of the car, all tangled. Sam's hands were all over him; Dean tugged at his brother's shirt as he extricated himself and stood, panting, in the open air. 

He looked across the expanse of the smooth black metal. Beside him, Sam was close to undressed, his dick out and upright, shiny purple head dribbling. His long limbs gleamed tawny in the sun, tight little ass cheeks paler, pubes and thin treasure trail two shades darker than the hair on his head. How the boy had grown, all over. "Right there," Dean pointed, then reached for his belt. "But you first." 

* * *

By the time they finally reached the abandoned house and Dean latched onto him immediately, Sam thought he'd never been so close to blowing his wad in his pants before. The last few minutes before Dean had slammed on the brakes and yanked the key from the ignition had been verbal foreplay. Both had yearned for more, and Sam had struggled to keep his hands away from his brother, but the risk of crashing the car and thus ending their play had helped pulling himself together. Now that they were on their own, there was no more restraint.

Within less than a minute, they tumbled from the Impala, hard and leaking, fumbling at their clothes with shaking fingers. Sam stood naked first, not daring to touch his dick for fear of losing it. The expression on Dean's face told him that his brother was in a very similar state to his own. Love and heat were shining from Dean's eyes that were greedily raking over Sam's body, with an occasional proud glance at the Impala.

Dean was still fighting with his belt buckle, and Sam couldn't begin to understand how his brother was able to behave like the perfect gentleman when he offered that Sam should go first.

"No," Sam panted, eyes glazed over with desire, "I have a better idea. She deserves a proper christening, the best we can give her." For a second, he wondered how Dean would react if Sam suggested one of them fuck the other, but Dean had always refused, and after what had happened earlier, Sam had no intentions of making his brother wig out again. He'd promised himself that he'd find out why Dean didn't want to be touched in that incredible place although it had got him off like a rocket, but for now, he pushed the thought firmly aside.

"Hurry up, get out of your clothes," Sam's voice was harsh with need. "Then let's stroke off, see who cums faster, and cover her hood in as much spunk as we can shoot."

* * *

"Fuuuuuuuck!!" Finally Dean managed to loosen his belt and shove his jeans down to his knees. Sam's suggestion hit him everywhere that connected to his libido. On wobbly knees, Dean shuffled around Sam, who was standing by the front fender, to the front of the car, so that they were at right angles to each other. They'd be able to see, able to touch if necessary. 

His hands trembled with need. Dean nodded once, and the word, "Go!" punched out of him, followed by a moan as he watched Sam wrap his fist around his dick and rub it up and down the straining shaft the first few times. He gave his own dick a stroke, then more. Sam was right, it was going to be over fast, might as well make the most of it. 

"Remember when..." Dean gasped, giving a series to quick, twisting pulls, "you first... came to me for help? You were too scared... to touch yourself." Eyes darting his way, Sam clenched his fingers tighter, milking a long strand of pre-cum from the slit. "And I showed you how to... beat off." It showed in Sam's face that he remembered alright, probably was one of his favorites to jerk off to still, if the flush heating his face and spreading to his chest and the sharp bucks of his pelvis had anything to say about it. His nipples were tiny pinpricks on the flat, smooth chest, and Dean salivated. 

"Just look at you, fucking your hand right in front of me now...! And then... You wanted to touch me, too... After you got brave enough." Dean was panting so hard, he could barely speak. His own hips juddered, butt cheeks and thighs quivering with beginning pre-orgasmic surges. "God, Sam, I'll never forget it... So young and innocent, so sweet, all mine..." Balls boiling over, Dean leaned forward, resting his off hand on the hood to steady himself. Clear drips already smeared the shiny paint below him, same where Sam was standing, his arm and hand making the most obvious of repetitive motions. 

"Need to cum! Cross your seed with mine!!" He thrust and thrust, the imagery behind his eyes erotic and disturbing: their bodies joining, moving as one. Even hotter, Sam in his frame of vision, slack-jawed and out of control. Their hands slapped flesh, wet and slick, faster and faster, a race. Dean threw his head back and howled, and came, spurting out white-hot lines of jizz across steel and midnight black, balls spasming in delightful pain. "Sam! Love you, Sammy! Oh GAWD!" 

* * *

The second Dean said 'Go!', Sam was ready. His fist closed around his dick, and already the first hard strokes made his balls practically jump up, all prepared to propel out their load. Then Dean started to describe their first time together, ever, when Sam had approached him, scared of his body's awakening and strange sensations. Sam went cross-eyed at the memory, his fist flying over his shaft, moaning as he listened to his brother's voice.

"All yours," he repeated, barely able to press out the words. "Still am, always." Every drop of blood, every brain cell seemed to have relocated to his groin, where every nerve cell he had – and quite a few he hadn't been aware of before – was overstimulated. Gods, he was so close! Sam sped up his strokes, desperate and frantic. His harsh breathing became one with Dean's, and their rhythms matched. When Dean howled and threw his head back, Sam joined him, and they came together, their loads meeting in the air, on the hood, in a seemingly endless stream of pulsing white.

Just when Sam thought – _knew_ – he had nothing more to give, Dean cried out his love. Sam's balls contracted again, painfully this time, and he heaved another load of cream on the Impala's hood. Regardless of the building soreness, he continued to squeeze his dick until he'd succeeded in massaging even the last droplet of fluid out. His legs were shaking and his vision was graying at the edges, but his mind returned faster than his body that refused to do anything but lean bonelessly against the car.

"Dude," Sam gasped. "That was a draw. I'm afraid we'll have to go again..."

* * *

A geyser of several sticky white shots gushed from Sam's slit; hand flying up and down in short pumps, Sam didn't let up on himself. The patter of his offering hitting the hood was like a burst of rain, and impossibly, there was another round a moment after, Dean was sure, unless it was all one long orgasm. With Sam, who knew. The kid had an amazing capacity to give and give. Caressing the lanky, trembling body with his eyes, Dean slowed and stopped, a deep groan of relief rolling from him. Their messy lines of spunk crossed before them, droplets and runnels everywhere. 

"Again?" he chuckled weakly. Sam grinned, although he looked like he was near falling over, himself. "You're gonna have to give me five minutes." He glanced down again, gestured to their loads on Baby's paint. "Look, Sammy. We christened her, and I think we consecrated her, too." They weren't an even vaguely religious family, though their dad taught them the power that resided in all belief systems, and their respective symbology and incantations. 

"If you have some Latin to chant over that, hurry up, cause I'm gonna roll you in it, then lick it off your hot little body." Trying not to trip, Dean moved to Sam's side, reached over to wind his fingers though the brown hair. He slid his mouth across Sam's again and sucked at his lips, could never get enough of kissing him. The firm body under his palms offered little resistance, and Dean crushed his brother against his chest. 

* * *

Sam nearly fell against Dean's chest when his brother pulled him close. Their lips met and Sam returned Dean's passion with his own. "Five minutes," he rasped feverishly, well aware that his body was all but giving out, but not doubting that Dean's hands – even a look from him – would have Sam hard and wanting again in no time.

Sam gasped when they had to break their kiss for a breath. His eyes widened at the mess on the hood. It was an impressive amount of goo they'd sprayed on Dean's 'Baby', and the lightness in his head made him burst out into giggles. "Seems like I blew my brains out on her as well," Sam laughed, "thus, no Latin, sorry. But I like your idea of rolling around in it," he offered with a wide and mischievous smile.

* * *

Spinning them, Dean turned Sam to face away from him. It was too tempting not to, so he kissed the little bump at the back of the neck and ran his tongue down Sam's spine to his waist. Nudging the long bare legs apart he bent Sam forward, as promised, into their combined streaky mess. Sam let out a little gasp when Dean pushed against his butt, and he shifted like he was about to straighten up. Toeing off his shoes and kicking his jeans all the way past his feet so they dropped on the ground, Dean pressed Sam down again and bent himself down, too, so he draped over Sam's back. It was quiet up there, peaceful. He looked around at the rolling countryside, then down at the contrast of Sam's tanned skin against the inky gleam underneath them. 

"Up," Dean urged, and lifted Sam up onto the hood. He crawled up after, laying out next to Sam's sprawling limbs before rolling him onto his back. Sticky spunk coated Sam's chest and torso, the scent as it drifted up Dean's nostrils hitting him right between the legs. Dean's salivary glands went into hyper-drive, and drool filled his mouth in an instant. "Oh, hell," he groaned. Sam was past being quiet - every time he moved, or Dean moved, or spoke, he responded with a grunt or moan of his own. 

Like he was dragging himself through sludge, Dean leaned, rolled, shifted, whatever, lapping at the first expanse of skin he could get his mouth to, Sam's belly. There were subtle ridges there, not much baby fat left, and Dean puppy-licked across the soft surface, swirling around the navel and into it, poking every tiny crease. 

He chased the egg-white-shiny, quickly congealing tastes in another series of long licks to the sharp jut of a hipbone, where Dean kissed the hollow. At last allowing himself to suck Sam's skin, he bore down hard. It left a livid red mark that would be black and blue in hours, holding on as those narrow hips thrashed, till he pinned them down. Sam's fingers skimmed over his shoulder and back, and Dean shivered at the delicate brush against his own sensitized hide. Working his way up Sam's torso, he cleaned away the evidence of their version of sex, glancing up every so often as his tongue extended. He left a wet line up the center of the sternum, where skin stretched hard and taut over the bone plate; at a peaked rosy-brown nipple, he lashed and then suckled gently, and repeated it upon its mate. Every dazed look he received from his brother held nothing but love and heated want.

Dean's cock was trying its damnedest to get up again. Belatedly, he slid his hand down Sam's side, to his groin, bypassed his dick and took his sac into his cupped palm. "You got anything left?" he smirked. The twin stones weren't as heavy as earlier, but now they felt swollen and somehow abused, kind of like his own. "Bet you do. These balls are a jizz factory." He squeezed lightly and nuzzled into Sam's neck. "Kinda like your big brother." 

All of a sudden, Dean knew what he wanted. It exploded like a bomb in his mind, and in some fatalistic way, he supposed it had only been a matter of time. But he couldn't, not that. He couldn't – would not – fuck his brother and mess his head up for life. But Dean wanted it so bad, he was nearly in tears with how it tore at him, and now he was fully erect, ready to go, his body demanding the ultimate step he was unwilling to take, for Sammy's sake. "Turn over, Sam." No, he wouldn't, but he could pretend. The pert little ass tempted him, the hottest fiery sin, and Dean grit his teeth. "Spread your legs. Don't be scared, not gonna go inside, just rub up against you, I promise." 

* * *

Still spaced out from the mind-blowing release, Sam's body didn't catch up as quickly as his mind – or his brother. While Sam was still struggling to get the jelly out of his knees, Dean pushed him down on 'Baby's' hood and let him – soak was the only word that fit – in their combined spunk. Beyond moving, Sam could only communicate his pleasure with loud moans and grunts.

He was in heaven. The sun shone down on them, bright but not too hot. Sam's back was warmed by the car's hood, still heated up from the drive, and his front was not only warm but set on delicious fire by Dean's licking and sucking. His brother's tongue left trails of desire where it touched and teased. A sharp and unexpected nip at his hip made Sam rear up, growling with need as Dean sucked so hard it hurt. Sam squirmed but found himself firmly pinned down – and it made him wild! 

His hands reached up and held on to Dean's shoulders as Dean licked and bit his nipples until they hardened, and his dick followed. Suddenly, his brother's hand was on Sam's balls, gently squeezing the wrung-out glands. It hurt, but like the mark on his hip, it was a good pain. Sam wasn't sure if Dean's claim that they were a 'jizz factory' could be held upright, though. By now, he was sure he'd be shooting dry if he could force another orgasm at all.

However, every thought of not being able to cum again vaporized instantly when Dean told him to turn over and spread his legs. Sam thought his heart would stop! Finally, _finally_ , Dean was going to fuck him! But as sudden as the thought had appeared, as sudden did it vanish again as Dean assured him he wouldn't go inside. Sam's ears were ringing and his brain kept repeating 'gonna go inside, gonna go inside', apparently not catching the message.

Sam wanted to shout out that it was wrong, that Dean should fuck him, that it was what Sam wanted, and had wanted him to do for months. But he found that he couldn't say it. Dean had freaked earlier when Sam had licked his hole, and Sam voicing his most intimate desire at this moment would likely end all fooling around, certainly now, and possibly forever. As much as he wanted Dean's dick inside him, Sam couldn't risk that.

"Yeah," he panted instead. "Spread my cheeks and rub up against me. Then shoot on my hole and push it in with your fingers when you make me cum with them inside me. Go, Dean. Do it!"

* * *

How the hell Sam knew in detail much less vocalized the dirty pictures that flashed through Dean's brain, he couldn't begin to fathom. Hearing it out loud, more shudders coursed up and down his body. "Oh yeah... want that, too." Sam turned himself over onto his belly and Dean scrambled over him, kneeing the long, slender thighs wide with his own knees planted between. He braced himself on one elbow, head lowered so he could kiss Sam's shoulder, his neck, the side of his face. 

God, it felt perfect: The position, or the feeling. It nearly broke him, how Sam trusted him, giving himself over to whatever Dean wanted, never wavering into doubt over Dean's ability to take care of him. If he'd been into admitting anything, he'd have had to allow that his testicles were sore, but he didn't want to stop – being with Sam was an addiction they didn't get to feed often enough. Besides, it would hurt more if he gave himself blueballs. 

Dean wiggled around till his aching dick rested between Sam's cheeks. The heat was scorching there. Below, Sam pushed his butt upwards, the movement sinuous, pure sex. Slowly Dean slid forward, pulled back, farther each time, wetting the dusky flesh with his own slick. He panted through open lips, an over-abundance of endorphines making him breathless; his toes curled, and his hips began to toss and roll. Maybe he was mentally playing dumb about this, beyond the moment of clarity. His dick knew what to do. The round, slick crown found its notch, the pink pucker still puffy and a little loose from earlier. Everything in Dean screamed, "Fuck him NOW!" and at the same time, it took everything he had not to. Burying his face in Sam's shoulder blades, Dean shook and twitched, knowing and feeling the head of his painful erection as it ground against the rim of Sam's hole. New sweat broke out on his back as he struggled to contain his urges. 

He was a dude, after all... When his orgasm finally began to gather at the base of his spine, Dean just had to look. Between them, his cock bridged, a shiny, angry reddish-purple. But he couldn't hold himself in check much longer, had to get off and end the all-consuming need or he'd be balls deep. Even now, his hips drove the abortive grinds subtly deeper, a fraction of an inch, and another. More disconcerting, Sam didn't flinch away, but seemed to push back. "Fuuuuuck! Sam, I can't...!" 

Reaching down, Dean grasped himself and stroked the thick, throbbing length, jerking fast and tight for maximum speed. "Almost... mmmm, almost... I'm gonna jizz on your hole, gonna come, let you feel it," Dean deliberately babbled; he needed very trick to come as fast as possible after three times already today.

"Ooooohh, good god Saaaaammm..." Heavy and dense as lead, his junk finally caught the spark of impending release. Dean stroked furiously and twisted just under the head, again and again; it felt great, but it was the fact of being pressed slit-to-Sam's-asshole that did him in. Dean's balls contracted, so exquisitely overwrought he screamed as he came. Thin streaks of white oozed forth, every one punching a pained grunt out of him, smearing around his glans to coat Sam's most secret place. 

"Gave it to you, my come, my love, just like you wanted," Dean whispered into his little brother's neck, still dribbling feebly. He remembered what else Sam wanted, too. Shifting to the side, he concentrated on first getting his uncooperative hand to work at all. When it obeyed, Dean blew out his breath, sucked in another, ran his palm along the slick-velvet skin till he reached the mess he'd made and circled through it. The trembling tiny pucker posed little resistance when he pushed one cream-coated finger inside. 

* * *

If this was Dean rubbing up against his crack, how would the real thing feel? Sam sensed that Dean was holding back, that his brother wanted to be inside him, but for some reason couldn't. One day soon... Sam already had a plan, and the thought of it fired off rockets of desire in his belly, but for now he'd take what was offered.

And what an offering it was! Feeling Dean slide between his cheeks, which were wet with the copious fluids Dean always oozed when he was aroused, made Sam press back and wiggle against him as hard as he could. Sam put a hand over his dick in order to protect it from being squashed against the Impala when Dean's rutting turned so desperate that his world seemed to have narrowed down to Sam's crack. He was still sore from the zipper incident, but Dean would make him cum from the inside...

Sam shuddered with delight and desire, moaning loudly when Dean's dick pushed against his entrance. He knew that despite his frenzy Dean wouldn't slip inside, but the few seconds when he made himself believe that it would happen sent the sweetest lust to his loins. Dean kept his slit against Sam's hole and changed from humping him to stroking himself, fast and furious, babbling on about how he'd jizz on Sam's hole, how he was so close, only another second...

And then he was there. Dean screamed and pushed so tightly against Sam's entrance as his balls pressed out their load that Sam wondered if Dean was actually shooting inside him. The hot, rhythmic pulses of viscous fluid against his hole felt like nothing he could have imagined. "Gods, Dean, yeah! Give it to me! Give me all you have!" Sam's ecstatic cries joined his brother's, as he was so close to the edge himself now.

Dean withdrew, but replaced his dick with his hand immediately. Sam breathed a relieved sigh that Dean didn't need a break to recover. If that had been the case, he'd probably started fucking himself with his fingers, but it was nothing compared to what Dean's felt like inside him.

And there it was, Dean's first finger stroked in smoothly through the thick cum. Sam yowled and pressed back, hole fluttering, moaning for more. And Dean gave him more. He was still a little loose from earlier, but Sam's eyes widened in shock when a second finger pushed in, deep, straight to his hidden pleasure spot...

"Aah, aannhh! Aaah! Dean!!! Mmmnnnaaaahh!!"

Sam jerked wildly, impaled on his brother's fingers, shooting his last dregs of spunk that were so thick by now that it felt like gelatin being forced out in slow motion. All of his synapses were firing simultaneously, stimulating his brain with an overload of pain and pleasure. Sam tried to beg Dean to stop, but he couldn't get the words out, and his brother continued to milk him with well-aimed thrusts and strokes of his fingers.

Finally, the assault on his oversensitive gland stopped, and Sam slid down the Impala's hood until Dean's strong hands caught his hips and held him in place. The roaring in his ears droned out whatever Dean was saying, but Sam assumed it was something like 'finally had enough, little brother', and then he felt his hair being ruffled. 

Sam's knees continued their trembling – when had that started? – and it took a long time before he could take a breath without gasping and panting. Through all of this, Dean kept holding him upright – well, not quite upright, but half-way over the hood at least. Sam's balls throbbed in a painful pulse, the pain dull compared to the sharp sting of his dick where the zipper teeth had broken the skin earlier. His hole was burning with the unfamiliar stretching, and his heart would probably give out soon.

He felt as if he were eighty instead of fourteen, and he was the happiest man on earth.

* * *

Sam pushed back and begged for more. Knowing he could take two fingers for sure, Dean added his middle finger and twisted his hand around. Under him, Sam was tense, so needy, his ass raised and spread open upon his hand. Dean gave it to him like he couldn't fully, finger-fucking Sam fast and hard, each thrust inside the incredibly hot cavern echoed with a shallow jerk of his hips. He'd just come, was going soft, but Dean's body still ghosted the pattern up where it was safe. "Love how you get off on this, Sam, c'mon, where's that spot...?"

Just then, Dean's fingers found their goal, the bump that by now he understood was Sam's prostate, his pleasure gland, and he pressed his fingertips against it on every stroke. Sam's writhing intensified. He yelled Dean's name and some other noises that sounded halfway between painful and orgasmic, his hole contracting hard once, then more, then faster. "That's right, baby brother, come for me..." Sam's hand was beneath himself, and the squeeze on his fingers signaled he was adding another load to mess on the hood. It was incredible, just everything, every little hitch and moan and slither of Sam's, from the beginning of arousal all the way till post-satiation. At other times, he was just Dean's kid brother, but when they did this, Sam was the most incredible lover, not only because of what he did to Dean with his hands and mouth and everything, but because of how he gave it up. And, he'd give more, everything, if Dean let him.

Right now, though, he was sliding down the hood, unable to hold himself up. Dean scrambled off and kept himself pressed against Sam's backside, so he wouldn't fall to the ground. They'd playfully bantered about more 'rounds' up here, but wow, he was so sore and over-sensitive, Dean didn't know if he could bear it. If they'd been at home, alone, they'd be collapsed into sleep by now, curled around each other in a bed. Somehow, he'd have to get them home without driving off the road, and he'd need to wash their combined goo off the Impala, not to mention his brother.

"You have enough yet, Sam? Any more and I'll be shooting blanks, if I can even get it up again, and that's saying something." Apparently the kid was too muzzy and strung out to even speak. Dean could relate. Bemused, he turned Sam enough to pick up him, bride-over-the-threshold style, and carry him the short distance to Baby's back passenger side door. Wrestling it open, he lowered Sam's limp form to the seat. "You can sleep, if you need to. But dress first, okay? And be careful of your zipper."

A goofy grin on his face at how shaky he was, Dean gathered up Sam's clothes and set them in his lap, then he found his own. What a sticky mess! His groin was covered in spunk, and he had it on his hands and knees and here and there otherwise, and Sam was worse off in that regard – before Dean had picked him up, strands of it had been running sluggishly down his legs. While he found it sexy as hell, they couldn't go home like that. Absently, Dean wondered if they'd get arrested if they got naked in a public car wash. Probably. But there was no running water up here so he'd have to live with it for now. 

* * *

"Hey!" Sam cried out with indignation when Dean unceremoniously hoisted him up and dumped him on the Impala's back seat, but he was secretly relieved that he didn't have to risk having his legs buckle under him while attempting to walk. He felt so wiped out that he could fall asleep immediately, but Dean was right. He needed to get dressed and they had to clean the car, and somehow, themselves.

Blushing and swearing at himself for his earlier stupidity, Sam reached for his clothes. For the second time, he regretted not having put on underwear. The first time had been when he'd got trapped in the zipper, and now his briefs would have come in useful to wipe the spunk off his body. He sighed as he pulled the jeans and shirt over his sticky body. About cleaning the car...

"Dean," Sam said, keeping his eyes trained to the ground. "Do you think we could possibly return to the shop we hit earlier? I, um, need to retrieve something from the trash there."

* * *

Dean kept a watchful eye on Sam, and saw that he was moving about, presumably getting dressed. He wished he could afford a motel room of his own, first, as much as he loved fooling around in and on Baby, so they could be more comfortable, and now, so they could clean up. His boxers were going to stick to him and even someone without a sensitive nose would be able to smell sex all over them. Then Sam announced they needed to go back to that last gas station... so he could dig in the trash!

Giggling, Dean leaned against the car, watched Sam pull his tee-shirt on, and asked, "Why, Sam? What did you do?" Maybe they could make a pit stop in the restroom there, at least, though, so it wasn't a bad idea, all in all.

* * *

Great. He should have known that this was a mistake. Dean was giggling already. "Shut up, ya idjit," Sam tried to growl and sound like Bobby, but that only served to make Dean double over with laughter.

"I bought something for you – your, um, Baby – earlier," Sam whispered in the irrational hope that maybe Dean wouldn't hear it. "Something to... clean and polish. Then I thought you wouldn't want it, and I, well, binned it. But that was before we... All I'm saying is that it could be useful for getting the hood clean. But I'll have to find it in the trash first." He blushed more.

* * *

"But... Why wouldn't I have wanted it... yah idjit!" Dean parroted Sam's choice of euphemism. "Didn't know you had any money... And you bought something for me?" 

He couldn't help but wonder why Sam had tossed it in the garbage, and maybe he shouldn't ask. "I... I'd love anything you gave me." Dean blushed. It sounded more than a little sexual, and he'd made it clear to Sam that they had limits. "I mean, for my Baby." 

* * *

"Let's go find it and clean her up," Sam said, hoping to put an end to this particular topic. "And, um, we need to get cleaned up, too. We reek. Not that I mind, but if Dad smells us..." 

He sighed. "We should have more clothes so we can take clean ones along from now on. And maybe a canister of water, like the holy water we always carry. Just make sure we don't use that on demons." Sam shuddered.

* * *

As he leaned against the fender and leaned down to retrieve his socks, Dean wrinkled his nose, then laughed at Sam's latest. "Oh yeah? You think we can't cast demons out with our super-secret super-sperm? Too bad it's not that easy! Since she's mine now, we can put whatever we want in her. Extra clothes would be good, maybe a few small towels." Dean thought about how he'd pay for that. Hustling, probably. They'd have to move on before he could make much again – the regulars in the town's bars had all seen him or heard of him, as far as pool-sharking. 

Socks and shoes on, Dean buckled his belt, put on his jacket, and slid behind the wheel. "You ready? Slam your door, then," he directed Sam, and then turned the key in the ignition. The Impala roared to life.

* * *

"Dude, that was awesome," Sam sighed happily when they hit the road again. Dean looked in high spirits as he was driving, his hands caressing the steering wheel almost as if... just like he'd touched Sam's skin earlier. Sex in the Impala that was now his own, Sam thought that all of his brother's dreams must have come true.

And maybe there was a slither of hope for Sam's dream, too. His birthday was coming up and he had an idea for a present that only his brother could give him. Looking over at Dean, Sam swallowed nervously. Maybe now was a good time to suggest it. Dean could hardly be in a better mood than right now...

Sam gathered up his courage. "Dean?" he asked almost shyly. When he had his brother's full attention, he couldn't hold back any longer. "I want you to fuck me," he blurted out, blushing furiously. "On my birthday. As my birthday present. I'll be fifteen and no longer too young for that."

* * *

They rode in companionable silence for a while. Dean's lower body ached pleasantly from all the earlier... activity. He and Sammy, the two of them were pretty insatiable, and he supposed that was normal for young, fit, healthy guys. In some ways, other than the constant need for secrecy, it was lucky they had each other. Neither would get pregnant, they were never unavailable thanks to that monthly thing girls had to deal with, and even when he was moody, Sam had never turned Dean down. 

It was a huge scratch across the proverbial record when Sam announced that he knew what he wanted for his birthday, and then asked if Dean would fuck him. Shit, shit, SHIT! He wasn't going to waylay Sam on that point forever. A wave of combined lust and panic rolled over Dean. 

"Sammy, I said before, we can't do that. So, sorry to rain on your parade, but no. I'll suck you, finger your ass, hump you, whatever. That is just... Off limits." It wasn't going to go over well, he could see that. Dean felt like he was pleading for understanding, for something Sam should intrinsically understand already. "It's not that I don't want to, okay? I do. I'm the sick-o here, wanting that. I will not hurt you or mess you up by doing that to you, Sam, I love you too much to." 

* * *

Sam felt rage rising in his gorge, but he forced himself to swallow it down. He didn't understand it. Couldn't Dean see how much it turned Sam on to have his hole fingered, to have his brother touch that incredible place inside him? How much better it would feel to have not only Dean's fingers, but his dick in there, his most intimate place? And then, hadn't Dean himself cried out in ecstasy earlier when Sam had licked him?

It didn't make sense. Dean said it himself that he _wanted_ to fuck Sam, that he'd cum incredibly hard on Sam's tongue. Then why was Dean refusing to ever do that again or to give in to what Sam craved most? He said it was because he didn't want to hurt Sam, didn't want to mess him up. Maybe Dean needed more reassuring that Sam really wanted it? He thought it over for a minute, then opened his mouth. This must be the reason.

"Dean," Sam began, trying to keep his voice calm and reasonable, regardless of how fast his heart was beating. "Please, you needn't worry. I _really_ want this. We can take all the time in the world to make sure you won't hurt me. I promise – I _swear_ that I'll tell you immediately when it hurts. Or we could start slowly, like, you fingering me open until I get used to it. There's still time until my birthday." Although totally spent, his dick twitched at the image of Dean stretching him a little more every day. 

As a child, Sam had known that he could have anything from his brother if he looked at him with what Dad called his 'puppy dog eyes'. He hadn't used that look in years, but he was so desperate now that his face assumed the expression almost automatically.

"Please, Dean?" he begged.

* * *

Holy gods, his little brother was going to kill him! If the explicit 'DIY anal sex' instructions didn't do it, the puppy dog eyes and the begging would. Dean sensed that Sam's emotions were running a torrent of hot and cold. Maybe he didn't do feelings and all that girly shit but Dean was always aware of Sam's mood, just as he was of their dad's. So earnest he was, telling Dean exactly what he needed, how to get there – Sam must have been obsessing on it a long time, and a lot more than Dean ever realized. 

He had opened Pandora's Box, and it was on him to either close it and lock it up tight, or allow both of them and everyone they ever touched and interacted with, even indirectly, to suffer the consequences. What those consequences might be, Dean could well imagine – CPS, jail, being hunted down by other hunters in the dead of night. They looked out for their own kind and traded favors and lore, but they also didn't tolerate certain behavior. Well, that was all on Dean, he had started it, allowed it to go on, so he would have to handle this. 

"Sam, I said no. No means no, didn't they teach you that in Sex Ed? I know you had it in seventh grade, everybody does. You might think you want it, that you're ready for it," Dean drew in a shaky breath, because if he was honest with himself, he knew Sam was more than ready, at least physically, "but you don't know what that means. Once it's done, it's done, and you can't go back over that line. I'm not gonna be the one who ruins you, your own brother!" he hissed. 

* * *

Sam simply didn't get it. It was only one step further than what they'd done for months. Why was Dean refusing him? Apparently, reason and begging didn't work. Running out of options, Sam felt himself getting angry. Maybe blackmail would help.

"Would you rather have me ask someone else to do it for me, then?" he hissed. 

* * *

Dean paled. If felt like someone had just slugged him hard across the face, or kicked him in the nuts. Or, dry-fucked him up the ass. Familiar, nauseous queasiness tickled his throat. "Idiot! Is that all you care about yourself, to throw it away on the first person willing to bend you over? It would probably be some sheep farmer who... who doesn't even care it's your first time," he gulped, "who would use you and..." He glared at his brother, not knowing how to even begin to tell him how bad of an idea that was. "It could... You could get a disease... You could tear. And I mean, your asshole. You think that would feel good, huh?"

* * *

For a moment, when Dean grew pale, Sam thought it might have worked, and he immediately felt guilty. But then his brother started speaking, and the longer Sam listened, the angrier he got.

"Why do you think I'd throw myself at some sheep farmer? There are actually some nice guys, as you might have noticed at school if you hadn't only been looking for bimbos to do in the broom closet!" Sam yelled.

"As for diseases, I learned about that in sex ed, so I've heard of condoms, duh. And about tearing, if I use my fingers until I know I can take a dick and use lube, that won't happen." Sam's voice turned shrill as his rage built up.

"And besides, why do you care? I asked _you_ to be my first because I knew you'd never hurt me, but apparently you'd rather see me under a sheep farmer!" he spat.

* * *

"Dammit, no I don't! I don't want you under anyone! I'll kill them! I've told you why. And no, I don't think you're stupid, but shit happens." Dean let out a peal of near-hysterical laughter, but managed to cut it off. "What I do in the broom closet doesn't concern you. Sometimes it's weeks, months when we can't do anything. I'm not made to... I can't go _without_ , Sam. I'm sorry, I've tried." 

Dean looked over at Sam again before back to the road. His brother was beyond pissed. "Nice guys? You're kidding, right? You know what that'll get you? Anyone gets wind of it, you'll end up beat up bloody on the side of the road, or in some field, or under the bleachers, and I might not be there to help you." He wanted to warn Sam that for his own good, he should not come out in these small towns, but the kid wasn't going to heed anything he said. 

More calmly, he went on, "If you want to have sex so bad, I know this woman from the Blind Eye Lounge that I can set you up with. She's... a professional, we get along good, have sort of an arrangement where she tells me who gets drunk, stupid, and easily hustled and I give her a cut of what I win. Now, she's probably almost twice your age but that's not old at all, she's small, dark hair and eyes, nice rack of course," he elbowed Sam, "and I know she'd make it nice for you, however that is... for you. How's that for a good birthday present, huh? Your big brother getting you laid? Besides, it's about time you learned how to be with a chick." 

If Sam would just try it, maybe he'd find, like Dean had, that while it was no substitute for their play, it took the edge off and thereby was better than nothing, and a lot more socially acceptable. 

* * *

"Don't you and Dad always preach that hunters never go to the same place twice? So but the time anyone could, 'get wind,'" Sam gestured, "I'd be long gone anyway. Besides, you wouldn't have to protect me if you didn't refuse to do me." He's seriously pissed off now, and it's more than just a quick temper flare.

"That old hag you know, you say she'd make it nice for me however that is, does she have a dick, then? Because, you might have noticed that I intend to be the fuckee. Unless..." The thought hits Sam so suddenly that it makes his jaw drop. "Unless it's you I'm fucking..."

It was never going to happen, but what the fuck did Dean think he was doing? Offering Sam a fucking – literally! – _woman_ when all this fighting was about Sam liking cock?

* * *

Sam had a point, but, "They'd get wind while we're still here. Do you know when we're leaving? I don't. Dad isn't going to let you cut school. If you hook up with some guy from your class tomorrow, I guarantee that in days, or a week, the entire school will know it." Seeing that Sam was going to fuss about that again, Dean cut him off. "You have to be careful. I know from that experience, genius. Yeah, you can kick ass, but ten or twenty homophobic jocks at once?" Dean shook his head. 

The ferocity with which Sam rejected his proposed gift pissed Dean off, too. His heart rate picked up, and his nostrils flared. "'Old hag'? Well, excuuuuuse me for trying to do something nice for you! I guess 26 or 27 is old, now. Fine! No, I assume she doesn't have a dick, but she has fingers and a tongue! She's pretty! God, Sam," Dean spat in disgust, "get a grip. I don't care if you like dick – I do. And pussy. But what matters more is who it's attached to." 

* * *

"26 or 27 means she's almost twice as old as I am," Sam spat. "And I don't care if she has fingers and a tongue. Good for her, but _you_ have fingers and a tongue. And a dick. Because you're a guy. Don't you get it you moron? It's _you_ I want, not some chance chick or dude!"

* * *

Dean shut his mouth for a minute, knowing his history didn't allow him to say that, but dammit, he needed to feel like someone loved him, if only for 20 minutes at a time. The one person he'd ever felt like he was in love with was his own fucking brother, totally off limits despite what they'd been doing... And who apparently hated him now. Sam snapped at him again, and what came out of his mouth shocked Dean to the core... Sam only considered doing the fucking... if Dean bottomed for him? 

He reacted again before he could catch himself. "Are you shitting me? That'll never happen. I don't bottom," Dean intoned flatly. Yet heat flared in his neck and face, because yes he did, never voluntarily, but never-the-less it was a huge lie and if there was lube then he could usually make it through alright these days. There was no way Sam knew anything about that. Dad sure as hell wouldn't have told him. Dean had never breathed a word, and he stayed away from Sam when he'd had to do... that. Well, fuck it. Whatever, it didn't matter, did it? His brother was so pig-headed and he wouldn't listen to anyone, about anything; why did Dean bother trying to keep him safe? Only because it was his fucking job! All of a sudden, he wanted to hit Sam, provoke him, make him pissed off enough to lose his mind, because that's where Dean was headed.

"Or, you know what? If that's what you want, what the hell are we waiting for?" He yelled, stomping on the brakes. Baby's tires squealed, leaving long black lines on the road. Something broke inside him. Weird, since he was already broken. "Come, Sam, get out! Bend me over right now! Let's get this over with! Happy fucking Birthday!" 

Dean shoved his door open and stepped out. Baby was half off the road, oh well. He stomped around to the passenger side, undid his belt and pants. Sticky from earlier, he had to peel his underwear off his crotch, pulling hair, which added fuel to his unexplainable rage. He continued to growl out words, wanting to hurt now, wanted Sam to know what it felt like to be prodded and pushed, told how he had fucked up and his best intentions sucked but that arrogant little fucker – fucker, ha! – probably wouldn't even feel that way, since he knew everything about everything. 

"Hear that, Sam? My ass is bare now. I have a condom in my wallet with your name on it. And guess what. No lube. Spit and precome has always been good enough for us and I guess that's all I'm gonna get. Get out of that car, you little shit. Fuck my ass... Have it! Shove your dick in my hole and fuck me!" Dean screamed. "Just don't expect me to cum." Unable to go on, he leaned over the hood right in front of the passenger seat, from which Sam hadn't moved yet. He laid his head down, turned to the side, wheezing like he was about to have a heart attack and staring at his brother through the windshield. 

* * *

Under his rage, Sam felt tears rising, and he fought to keep them down. Looking out of the side window, he was taken by utter surprise when Dean suddenly braked, jumped out of the car to bare his ass and bend over the hood, yelling at Sam to fuck him – no, to _rape_ him.

He paled and his stomach turned. Don't be sick in the car, he told himself, but he couldn't move, let alone get out. Shell-shocked, he could only stare at his brother. Who was a complete stranger in this moment, obviously totally beside himself. A tiny voice in his head told Sam to stay away, to be good, and never, _never_ find out what had caused this reaction.

"Dean," Sam whispered, not sure if his brother could hear him, but his voice refused to cooperate. "Get in the car. I... I'll take your girl. Just... let's get cleaned up and go home. Please." Suddenly bone-tired, he closed his eyes, hoping that Dean would regain his senses. Closed eyes also had the advantage that Dean wouldn't see the tears that now were definitely there. 

Stiff with fear, Sam sat in the Impala and prayed that Dean would return and they'd get out of here.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam felt tears rising, and he fought to keep them down. Looking out of the side window, he was taken by utter surprise when Dean suddenly braked, jumped out of the car to bare his ass and bend over the hood, yelling at Sam to fuck him – no, to _rape_ him.

He paled and his stomach turned. Don't be sick in the car, he told himself, but he couldn't move, let alone get out. Shell-shocked, he could only stare at his brother, who was a complete stranger at this moment, obviously totally beside himself. A tiny voice in his head told Sam to stay away, to be good, and never, _never_ find out what had caused this reaction.

"Dean," Sam whispered, not sure if his brother could hear him, but his voice refused to cooperate. "Get in the car. I... I'll take your girl. Just... let's get cleaned up and go home. Please." Suddenly bone-tired, he closed his eyes, hoping that Dean would regain his senses. Closed eyes also had the advantage that Dean wouldn't see the tears that now were definitely there. 

Stiff with fear, Sam sat in the Impala and prayed that Dean would return and they'd get out of here.

* * *

"Really. No? You got nothing. Uh-huh." Dean could see Sam's lips form words, couldn't hear him. Free air moved along his exposed cheeks and crack, and he shuddered. Time stretched out, while Dean waited, waited to be acknowledged and taken, opened and used. Sam went blank – Dean saw him close his eyes and shut down, but Sam didn't make any move to get out of his seat. Jesus, what was he doing? This was the deepest end of fucked up yet.

After an eternity, Dean pushed himself upright. He was startled by the fact that he was half-hard, maybe from the keyed-up feelings, the rage, because the other alternative scared the shit out of him. Turning his back to Sam, Dean stuffed his dick in his pants and did up his clothes in three seconds flat. When he returned to his side of the car, he noticed for the first time how close to the town they were, less than a mile. It was a miracle no one had spied him. And that, after his lecturing Sam about the dire need to be careful. 

He didn't say another word, and he didn't so much as glance at Sam. At the same convenience store as before, Dean pulled up next to a gas pump. He'd put in a few gallons, under the guise of 'enough to get them home', but really, so he and Sam wouldn't have to be in the restroom at the same time. He couldn't bear the idea of it, washing their combined scent and fluids off himself in the presence of his brother. "Go wash up," he said gruffly, starting up the pump. He didn't look, but he could hear and feel Sam retreating.

It was his own damned fault. He should have just explained things to Sam that night and never touched him. Or only done it once to show him... And never again. What made him think they could keep doing this, that there'd be no consequences? Already, Sam expressed... revulsion at the idea of being with a woman. Dean had done that to him. Maybe it was her age, Dean supposed, but hot, 18-year-old hookers were hard to come by and over his price range.

Like the bell of doom he sometimes dreamed about, where he woke up with the knowledge he was dead, that everyone in the world was going to die, too, Dean felt the certainty of what he was going to have to do settle in his guts. They would have to stop. There was no other way. The promises that he'd made Sam that he'd love him and want him for as long as he lived were not lies. That wasn't going to change. But, once Sam's birthday was over and done, that would be it. Throat tight and eyes stinging, Dean hung up the nozzle and stalked into the store. 

* * *

Not sure if Dean had even heard him, Sam waited in the Impala with closed eyes for what felt like an eternity. Finally, Dean returned, sinking into the driver's seat without a word. Dean started the car, resumed the drive to the small town, and still Dean wouldn't talk. Sam wasn't sure what the silence meant, but it was one of the worst things he'd ever experienced. 

Sitting in the passenger seat hunched over with clenched fists, looking anywhere but toward Dean, Sam thought they'd never arrive anywhere, but eventually – it couldn't have been more than twenty minutes, if that much – they reached the town and Dean approached the gas station. 

When Dean finally spoke to him, he didn't look at Sam. He ordered Sam to get cleaned up, and Sam set his jaw, then climbed out of the car and walked stiffly over to the restroom. The place wasn't as disgusting as he'd feared, but Sam couldn't have cared less. He did his best to wipe the dried cum off his body, trying to ignore his thoughts wandering back to earlier when Dean had licked their mingled juices off his belly.

What the hell had happened? Sam wasn't sure he wanted to know any longer. Whatever it was, it was final. He felt empty, like a burned-out shell. It was over between him and Dean, his brother had made that more than clear. What Sam wanted didn't matter, he didn't have a say.

Sam finished cleaning up as well as he could, then returned to the car. Dean was nowhere to be seen, probably paying and waiting for his turn in the restroom. Sam leaned his head against the passenger window and closed his eyes again, already dreading the ride home in cold silence.

* * *

_Yeah, good fucking job, Dean! Get all sentimental over dried cum..._ Dean cursed himself. Time to buck up. He should be glad to be rid of the itchiness. Dean grabbed a handful of paper towels from the dispenser, wet them down with soap, and briskly scrubbed himself until his front was bright pink, but mostly clean. Someone banged on the door, so he got dressed and left. On the way to the cash register, he grabbed two bottles of Coke, asked the clerk for a pack of smokes, and paid for that and the gas. They didn't even card him. Well, he felt a hundred years old. Maybe he looked it, too. 

Sam was sitting in the car, stiff and facing front. Unable to force a word from his mouth, Dean started the Impala. His baby. At least he still had her. He took a long swig of his Coke and set Sam's on the seat between them. 

It was a long drive. Maybe ninety minutes, and he had nothing to say. Baby's rumbling, Detroit purr didn't soothe him. Like a bloodhound, Dad would sense something was off. It went beyond one of Sam's everyday minor bitch-fits, and John would want to know what happened. Who said what. Who did what. Why Sam suddenly loathed the big brother he'd always looked up to. 

If Sam told Dad the truth, the whole truth, then Dean would be disowned or possibly jailed or shot immediately there-after. If not, then somehow they were going to have to find a way to tolerate the kind of life they led. Dad wouldn't let up on training, no way. There'd be hand-to-hand combat and hunts – Sam hadn't gone with yet but he was older than Dean had been his first time. They'd leave this town, be forced to ride in the car together for hours, days. Live in tight quarters, share food, share a bathroom, do each other's laundry. Sleep in the same bed, which they'd been doing most their lives. God! They'd have to touch, in sleep if nothing else, wake up next to each other with boners or with cum in their shorts from wet dreams. Before, it had been almost kinda fun, a different sort of torture, more like foreplay. 

It was going to be hell on earth. But to not have Sam there; that would be worse.

They were almost back to town when Dean finally spat out a little speech he'd been rehearsing. "Act normal, Sam, or we'll have Dad crawling up our asses with a microscope. Unless you plan on the big reveal." He didn't move his eyes from the road or his hands from where they clenched around the hard borders of the steering wheel, but when Dean curled his lip, he sensed Sam saw it.

* * *

Dean continued with the silent treatment when he returned. He'd bought a bottle of Coke for Sam, but Sam refused to acknowledge it. He was thirsty as fuck, what with all the spunk and sweat he'd lost, but touching the bottle implied a connection with Dean that he couldn't feel any longer. An accidental brush of his hand against Dean's arm would set off the barely held-up wall behind he was hiding his tears.

The drive was endless. When they finally approached their current home town, Dean opened his mouth for the first time in what felt like years, demanding that Sam act normal. About to snort, Sam couldn't believe his ears when he heard what his brother seemed to suspect... 

_...unless you plan on the big reveal..._

Sam exploded. " _What_ big reveal?" he sneered. "That my brother is an uptight homophobe? The way you talk about Dad, he would be happy to hear that! So, what's there to reveal? That you offered to set me up with a hooker? I doubt that he'd even be surprised at that. Relieved maybe, because it means that he doesn't have to do it himself. Don't worry, Dean, as much as you loathe me, I won't reveal your embarrassing secret," he spat. "If he asks me, I'll tell him the usual, that I don't want to leave town, want to go to school, have a normal life, yada yada. Just you leave me alone!" 

He pushed out his lower lip and folded his arms across his chest, trying not to broadcast his misery, and made a point out of looking away from Dean. 

* * *

"Bitch!" Dean sneered, his standard 'pet' name for Sam. Now that he'd had his own hissy fit, he felt strangely flat. "This is what you get when you give me an 'all or nothing'. Simple as that. Didn't ask you to protect me, or defend me. Say what you will. To Dad or whoever. I don't even fucking care anymore." He pulled up next to the sidewalk in front of their rental. "Get. Out. Have fun dealing with your homophobic father. Especially the next time he's broke. I'll be back when the fur stops flying. Or never." 

The second Sam opened his door, Dean chucked the bottle of soda out. He felt sick. Especially about his 'when he's broke' comment. He could never leave Sam to that fate, could he? 

He'd worry about it later, when the guilt became crushing. He'd find something stupid and destructive to entertain himself with tonight, first. 

* * *

At any other time, Sam would have laughed and returned a happy 'jerk' to Dean's 'bitch'. It was their ritual, a code for the – brotherly and unbrotherly – love they shared. Now all he wanted was to cry. About to speak and try to make up with his brother, the barely-suppressed rage rose up again when Dean claimed Sam had given him an 'all or nothing'. 

"That's not true and you know it," he hissed. "I agreed to the chick, but you weren't listening. Well, since you don't 'fucking care anymore'," Sam's voice was rising and he was annoyed to note the growing hysteria in it, "fuck you, too!"

Dean parked the car, and before it had even come to a standstill, Sam was out. Hearing, but not understanding, Dean's parting words – he was relieved to see that Dad's truck wasn't there. He unlocked the front door and ran straight to the bathroom.

The water was luke warm at best, but it was good enough for him. Sam was more than reluctant to leave the room when he'd finished showering because it was the only place where he could really be alone, behind the locked door. Not that his father or brother couldn't have picked the lock in less than ten seconds, but the bathroom was considered sanctuary by all Winchesters. Being stuck so close with each other all the time, it was a refuge each of them needed now and then. 

Sam knew that Dean would want to clean up as well – make sure he erased every trace of his disgusting and perverted little brother off his body. Well, tough luck. If Dean wanted the bathroom, he could very well ask for it. Until then, Sam had no intention of leaving his tiny bubble of safety. 

* * *

Annoyed more than truly angry over the 'fuck you', Dean tried to make sense over whatever Sam was going on about. He agreed to the chick but Dean wasn't listening...? Oh, that must be Arianna from the bar, and the only time he could have mentioned it in Dean's presence but not hearing was when Dean had been bare ass up over the Impala's hood. Yes, he recalled looking at Sam through the glass, furious as hell, and that his brother's lips had been moving but Dean couldn't hear him over the engine. Just more ammo for Sam, he supposed. The brat hadn't listened to one little thing Dean had said to him. Nothing. He had twisted or ignored his warnings, caution, anything he might lump under wisdom and thrown it in his face. And there he went, stomping to the door, all stiff and outraged, flipping his stupid hair. 

They'd better cool off. Dad's 'new' beater was missing, and he hadn't called to say where he was going. At the moment, Dean didn't trust himself in the same house with the kid. He'd just, minutes ago, told Sam he was ditching him, but first of all, if Sam kept his mouth shut to John as he'd stated, then Dean would probably be on the shit list for not babysitting, which was ridiculous considering that John had left them alone for days when Dean was half his present age. Secondly, if their dad returned soon wanting Dean to work on his crap car, then Dean had better be there. Dammit. Wanting nothing more than to roar the fuck out of there and get wasted, Dean switched off the ignition and made his way to the miniscule front porch. 

He sat there for a while and had a smoke. In the past two years, he'd kept that away from Sam, who hated the taste. Normally he only smoked in bars, anyway, and now all those laws were getting passed so his days were numbered. One cigarette became two and then six, and he was about ready to puke but he did not want to go in. Still no sign of Dad. Dean was beginning to get hungry despite the nicotine-induced nausea, which would wear off soon. The pancakes were hours ago. His mind kept wandering back to earlier in the day, before everything went to shit: Sam's face in ecstasy, the exact writhes of his hips and spine, the love in his eyes. Well, it was all gone now. Dean supposed it hadn't hit yet – he wasn't sad, not horny, not angry, just numb.

But be damned if he was going to let Sam dictate how he felt any longer. Screw that. And be damned if Dean was going to live in terror of his brother ratting him out. If Sam talked, he talked. Until then, life would just have to go on. Oh-blah-dee, oh-blah-dah, la la la. Or whatever. He sure as hell wasn't going to coddle Sam anymore. 

Dean stood and stretched and strode into the house, banging the door. Naturally, Sam had locked himself in the bathroom – he didn't even need to try the doorknob to know that – he could sense his brother's presence on the other side. Well, he needed a shower, too. Badly. Dean crossed the hall to their room... Their room. Dammit. He found some clean clothes and called through the door, "Hurry up in there." No response. He pounded on the panel. "Hey, quit hogging the bathroom already! I gotta piss." 

* * *

Perching on the closed toilet lid, Sam felt as if he was torn apart by his love and completely empty. Wracking his brain trying to figure out what had gone wrong didn't lead him anywhere except that Dean loved him. And, at the same time, Dean didn't love him. 

If Dean loved him, why wouldn't he give Sam this ultimate gift? Sam couldn't remember wanting anything so much in his life before than this 'being one' with him. Sam snorted, aware that these were girly thoughts he must have picked up from some of the awful romantic comedies on TV that he sometimes had running in the background when Dean and Dad were out on a hunt and Sam couldn't stand the silence any longer.

But Dean had also made it clear that he was refusing Sam because he wanted to protect him. Now, that didn't make sense to him. Protect him from what? CPS and the likes, forget about them. If they found out what the two of them had been up to, it wouldn't make much of a difference if they'd gone this final step; they'd be screwed anyway. The same held for Dad – except that Dad was more likely to take Dean out and shoot him than to take Sam away as CPS would do. So what exactly was it that Dean feared? That Sam would change his mind one day? Would Dean be as reluctant as with a girl who was a virgin and wanted him? 

The only idea Sam could come up with to get out of this mess was a truly desperate, and, as he immediately admitted to himself, utterly stupid plan: he could drop the topic and make up with Dean. Then not mention it anymore until they were far away from this town, and lie to Dean that he'd found someone to pop his cherry. Dean would be murderous at first, but if Sam told him it had been a boy of his age, a nice guy, a friend from school, Dean might decide not to kill the kid. Furthermore, of course, Sam wouldn't reveal a name. After some time, Dean might forgive him, and since he'd think that Sam was no longer a virgin, he'd relent and fuck him silly and they'd live happily ever after.

It was completely hare-brained, and it would never work. Sam sighed. He needed a plan, something that wouldn't set Dad's instincts off and a way of being close to Dean without either dying to have sex with him or kill him.

He was interrupted by a pounding on the door. Surprised that he'd been left alone for so long, Sam knew that his reprieve was over. With only a towel slung around his hips because he hadn't taken the time to grab clean clothes, he opened the door and ducked out without acknowledging his brother. 

Passing by the kitchen on his way to their shared bedroom, Sam decided that he was hungry. There were a few leftover pancakes in the fridge – and a six-pack. Dad must have been shopping. Sam nodded grimly to himself. That's what Dean would do, get rat-assed. Only, if Sam grabbed a beer now, Dean, who'd be out of the shower in no time at all, would take it away before Sam had a chance to finish even half of it. His jaw set, Sam rummaged through the top cupboards until he discovered Dad's stash. Pouring himself a water glass full of the vile-smelling liquid, he gulped it down before he could change his mind – and found himself bent over the kitchen counter coughing and choking. He told himself to 'man up' and forced down another glass, then pushed the bottle back, picked up a beer and padded over to the bedroom.

By the time he reached the room, he barely managed it onto his bed, where he opened the beer, sloshing half of it on his still bare torso. Dean would so kill him for this, Sam thought, but Dean hated him anyway, so. The room was spinning, but Sam felt warm and almost content now. Dad, Dean, suddenly his fucked-up life didn't matter anymore.

* * *

A minute passed, then Sam yanked the door open and pushed past Dean in nothing but a towel. The threadbare terrycloth covered him, but did nothing to hide the sweet curve of his ass as Sam stalked away, toward the kitchen. Dean tore his eyes away with half-curse, half-moan and ducked into the bathroom. 

The walls were thin and he could hear Sam rattling about in the kitchen, glass clinking, cupboard doors opening and closing. It meant Dean would have to be quiet. By now, he'd lost track of how many times today he'd dressed and undressed, and now he did it again. This was the last time ever he'd wash his brother off his body. Dean closed his eyes and breathed in deep. He would have to survive on the sense memory from now on. 

Since Sam had been behind the locked door so long, Dean had expected the water to be tepid at best, but it was warm. Good. He opened the tap all the way; there was decent water pressure here. The shower would be the only source, or avenue, of release now, other than if he accidentally came off in his sleep or whatever strange he could pick up. But he didn't want that right now. Something else was about to overtake him and Dean most definitely didn't want to be heard. Hell, Sam would gloat. 

Under the thrumming water, Dean braced his palms on the wall, bowed his head, and waited. Not long. No one would see his tears as they poured down his face, mixing salt water into fresh. No one would hear the sobs he muffled with a clenched fist against his mouth, every muscle in his body tensed to prevent the noise of labored breath. It took till the water ran cold for it to run its course. 

Exhausted, Dean dressed in sweatpants and a black tee faded to gray. He heard and saw nothing of Sam till he turned into their shared bedroom, and then he stopped short. Sam was stretched out on his bed, covered to the waist but appearing to be naked, and the room reeked like a brewery-slash-distillery. From long experience, Dean recognized the nasty smell of JD. There was an open can of beer held loosely in Sam's hand. Mixing his liquors, yet? "Are you... Are you DRUNK?" Dean asked, incredulous. 

* * *

The running water from the shower almost lulled Sam to sleep. He sighed as his body relaxed. Feeling warm and nicely numb, he was almost content. Almost. It was only a matter of time until Dad came home or Dean found him, but until then, Sam would make the best out of it. He could understand why his brother turned to drinking sometimes. The thought made him sad and happy at the same time: even though Dean wouldn't want to be close to him any longer, they still had things in common.

Sam wanted to cry, but somehow the tears wouldn't come. He took another sip of the beer, not sure if he liked the taste, but he was thirsty, and it reminded him of Dean... _Dean._ Who was suddenly standing at the foot-end of the bed, towering over him, asking Sam if he was drunk. 

The question sounded so ridiculous that Sam broke into giggles. When he opened his mouth to say that, yes, of course, he was drunk, a loud belch came out instead, which made him giggle even more.

"Shoo... should see ya face..." Sam slurred. Dean's expression turned from incredulous to angry, but Sam found that he was unable to stop giggling. 

* * *

"What the fuck were you thinking? Dad's gonna kill you," Dean growled. Now he was going to have to deal with the fallout of his lightweight little brother sick and hung over, as well as his current state of giggly sarcasm... and undress. Sam wiggled around under the white sheet, which slid down to expose the sharp cut of his hipbone. Angry at himself for looking, and the whole situation, Dean jerked his eyes back up to Sam's face. His mouth was slack, head lolling on the pillow, and his slanted eyes mere slits. "Should see your own face. You're wasted. How much did you have?" 

Dean had had it in his mind to clean up the kitchen, since he'd promised earlier, then take a nap till Dad returned. Now here was Sam ruining his plans again. "I'll get you a bucket. Don't you dare upchuck in the bed." 

Apparently there was no such thing as a bucket in their excuse for a house, or even a large mixing bowl. Now he took his turn to open and close the cupboards and closets, finding nothing much of use behind the scratched pine paneling. At last, Dean settled for a soup kettle and stalked back to the bedroom, placing it on the floor closest to Sam's head. 

"Here." It was the most he could offer. Any other time, he'd have been teasing Sam about getting drunk, or rambling on about the grossest, most stomach-churning foods, roadkill, and bodily functions he could think of just to see his little brother turn green. "I should just drag you into the bathroom and stick my fingers down your throat," he announced. "But I won't. Metabolizing all that alcohol will be worse. Only way you'll learn. Natural consequences." Dean knew very well Sam didn't give a shit, if he could even comprehend right now. It was more for his own benefit that he'd said it. Aware he was loitering in the doorway, Dean whisked a blanket off the bed and turned to go. 

* * *

"'s what you and Dad do all the time," Sam pointed out acidly. "Somethin' you don' like, you drink. 'm jus' doin' the same." Dean brought him – the soup kettle? What the fuck? – and Sam swore to himself that he wouldn't be sick. Then again, his dignity was out of the window anyway since he'd begged Dean to fuck him.

"And why the fuck would you care?" he spat at his brother.

* * *

"'Cuz I'll be the who has to clean it up, dickhead, and you'll be passed out." Dean fixed his eyes on a splotch on the wall over Sam's right shoulder. "That is, if you're not drowning in your own vomit!" 

This was turning into a pissing contest, and Dean was not about to lose. He leaned against the door frame, folding his arms over the blanket and propping his hip against the wood near the latch. "I find it interesting that you look down on me and Dad, and here you are, doing the same damned thing, Sam _Winchester_ ," emphasis on the family name. "One of us, one of us!" Dean chanted in his most insipid voice.

* * *

"Yeah? One of _us_?" Sam's voice rose. "Then why do you and Dad never treat me as 'one of _us_ '? And yet, when I don't want to be 'one of _us_ ', if I want a normal life, you forbid it, greater goals, yada yada."

The look on Dean's face showed his brother's disgust, and Sam was finally overtaken by the self-pity that had been building up since their fight. "So, since you won't make me throw up, isn't that also because you hope I'll drown in my vomit?" Sam's voice and lower lip were shaking. "I hope I'll do you the favor of dying. You'll never again have to clean up after me, and Dad can finally be all there for the son he loves." 

Tears streamed down his face as hysteria set in. "You can even leave my rotting corpse here, just as you always do when we have to leave town in a hurry because of some mess during a hunt!" Sam took a deep breath before yelling, "You can go fuck yourself, Mr. 'one of _us_ '! I never want to see you again!"

* * *

Dean felt the blood drain from his face. "'The son he loves'? You have no idea what you're saying. He loves me so much that..." He stopped himself from revealing the hidden, shameful part of his life, put in place by the father who loved his son so much, just in time. 

Sam's voice had been hysterical and shaking, and now Dean's was, too. He pushed off the door frame, pacing, not that he could go more than three steps in any direction. "I control what Dad says and does about as much as you do – not at all! Yeah, hunts get messy, but we save lives. And after..." They'd left not over rotting corpses but because of Dean's state of mind – or body – more than once. "You have no fucking clue! You never wanna see me again? You wanna die? You self-centered little bastard! Have it your way!" 

Dean spun on his heel and slammed the door on the way out of the room. Seriously tempted once again to take Baby and just go, he still didn't, instead plunking down on the worn couch with it's horrid pattern of brown-and-blue flowers. It was too short for him, he'd have to curl up or let his feet dangle off the armrest. Too bad, he didn't want to look at Sam's snotty face any more, either. He lay down on his side, threw the blanket over himself, and tried to calm down. Mind racing a million miles a minute, sleep would not come. 

* * *

John was surprised to see the Impala in front of their rental when he returned. He'd expected the boys to stay gone until late, but it was just as well that they were back. He needed... _help._ He'd already tried to acquire the money it would cost to fix the truck, but at his age, things weren't as simple any longer. And that meant...

The first sight when he entered their dingy apartment was Dean, apparently passed out on the couch. John frowned when he noticed how worn his eldest looked: Dean sported dark rings under his eyes, and the worry lines etched in his face should belong to a much older man, not to a son who wasn't even out of his teens. 

A cold hand gripped John's heart. He was the one responsible for Dean's non-existing childhood, and he'd put many of the lines on Dean's face. It was ironic that John had tried to spare Sam this life as much as he could, yet Sam had so far turned out to be the more resilient of his boys. Dean would never admit to being vulnerable. John had taught him that, but now, in his sleep, he saw Dean as the four-year-old child whose world had just broken down when he'd lost his mother. And his father, in a way, too: it had been the last day of Dean's childhood.

He took a deep breath. Sam was almost 15, two years older than Dean had been when... John made a decision. They needed the money, and it was time for Sammy to grow up. John hated himself for it, but there was no other choice. He couldn't ask this of Dean alone any longer.

John was on his way to the boys' bedroom where he assumed Sam was, when his eldest's voice stopped him.

"Dad?"

* * *

Not really asleep, but not awake, either, Dean heard his father enter the house, renew the salt line in front of the door, and walk past the couch. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. It was still bright outside, so he hadn't been resting long. John shuffled toward his and Sam's room, obviously not in search of Dean, but Sam himself. Sam, who was drunk off his ass. Dean had to distract him. 

"Dad?" John spun around, which surprised the hell out of Dean. John's honed hunter senses should have picked up his approach. "You're back," he said unnecessarily. "Um, did you want to work on your car now?" Anything to get him away from Sam. 

* * *

"Yeah, I'm back," John replied, not looking at Dean. "Just taking your brother for a spin." He'd hoped to avoid having this conversation until later, _afterward._ Dean was fiercely protective of his brother, and he'd never agree to this, but John had no other choice. 

* * *

"He's asleep," Dean burst out. John wouldn't approve of a midday nap at all. So why had he gotten on Dean for the same? His dad didn't acknowledge him, wouldn't look at him at all, and Dean was getting a bad feeling about this. He hurried on. "He didn't feel well, so he decided to lie down." 

Best keep as close to the truth as possible. Although, how he... they... Sam would ever keep a hangover from John, master of all hangovers, was beyond Dean, especially considering Sam hated his guts right now and was about as likely to allow him to 'help' as try to kick him in the jewels. 

"So... Supply run? I don't mind going. I could take my car..." he attempted a measure of the eager keenness toward Baby he'd been full to the brim with earlier in the day. Maybe Dad wouldn't notice the strain in his voice. 

* * *

Sam wasn't feeling well? John frowned. It put an end to his plans, if only temporarily, and a part of him was relieved for the reprieve. On the other hand, he just wanted to have this over with, but with Sammy sick, it would have to wait.

"Been overindulging on gummy worms, huh?" John tried to sound light, but it made his heart even heavier. Sam was a _child._ He had the _right_ to an upset stomach from eating too many sweets – and not from having a stranger's cock shoved down his throat. 

John shuddered. He'd look in on Sammy, then ask Dean to go buy supper for the two of them. Bacon cheeseburgers, the ones that Dean loved best. And Dean could take the Impala for another spin; the boy was so eager that he was almost bouncing on the dingy couch.

"Well, supply run it is. Let me just check on Sammy and I'll come with you..."

Opening the door to the bedroom, John recoiled instantly. The place reeked, and the source of the smell was obvious: Sam was lying on his bed, buck naked, with the sheets pushed aside to expose his body, an empty beer can next to his head. John felt anger rise in his gorge.

"Is this what you call looking after your brother?" John's voice was cold and clipped. "Get dressed. Make sure you look nice. We're going out after all, only with you helping me instead of Sam."

* * *

When John announced he'd look in on Sam, Dean was torn between trying to deter him and just going with it. Dad would find out, he always did, about obvious fuck-ups. Plus, he didn't dare lay a hand on him. Dad wasn't exactly an easy-going man, and he was as liable to hit Dean as brush him off. But he knew the second John opened the door and hissed in anger that the choice of the easy road had been the wrong one. As he peered over John's shoulder, Dean would see the picture this presented as well, and it wasn't good. 

The first thing he did, kneejerk reaction, was shoulder past his dad and pull the sheet up over Sam's sprawled form, covering his naked body. It was stupid that he felt... proprietary of it. He'd have to adjust his thinking, but not today. "He did that while I was in the shower," Dean snapped defensively. "Figured it would be better to let him sleep it off." 

The full meaning of what his Dad was asking him to do hit him. Was this his punishment for not watching Sam well enough? He bowed his head to accept it as deserved – and then snapped it right back up, eyes burning. John had left the room in disgust and Dean trailed after. "Wait, did you just say I'm to," he cleared his throat, "to help you, instead of Sam? Were you going to whore him out, Dad?" His voice sounded high and plaintive, and at the same time, he could not remember ever being so close to rebelling, fighting back. He stood up straight and stared into his father's flat brown eyes. "Jesus Christ, you will ruin him." John had no idea, he never could, straight, older, jaded 24/7 hunter type that he was. Sammy, with his incredible sensitivity and eagerness. Maybe Dean couldn't have that for himself but to throw it away to some drunken hick for a few hundred bucks... 

"Do not EVER do that to Sammy. That's what you have me for. Isn't it? Dean Winchester. Hunter. Badass. Whore." He took a deep, trembling breath, trying to control the rage that welled up. "If it's about money, then I'll... I'll do more. Work more. I can try to act younger, can't pass for 13 anymore but. Please, Dad, not Sammy!" 

* * *

"Will you shut up already?" John hissed. "Unless you want your brother to hear you, you'd better shut your cakehole." 

He had to turn away from Dean, couldn't look him in the eye. Of course, Dean didn't understand why John had to do this. John couldn't tell him that they had to protect Sammy from the evil demon that had taken their mom. That, if John didn't hunt that monster down, they might have to kill Sammy in order to stop him from turning into a monster himself. That, and John knew he'd go to hell for it, if he had to whore Sam out it was still a less evil fate than letting the demon blood in Sam take over.

"You don't understand, Dean," John said when he'd got his voice under control again. "So don't question my decisions. Now get dressed."

He didn't like the idea of leaving Sam alone, drunk and vulnerable, but Dean would be even more vulnerable out there. Letting his eldest turn tricks without watching out for him was not an option.

* * *

"He's not going to hear anything, passed out," Dean argued, but he shut his mouth so hard his teeth clicked when his Dad told him to. "Yessir." 

What the fuck was he talking about, 'you don't understand'? What Dean understood was that he was the last hope and last resort when times were so bad that they had no other way to make enough money. It wasn't rent and food; that seemed to be covered. A case? He retreated, digging his one good outfit from his bag, a pair of deliberately tight, low-slung black designer jeans and a fitted button-down that brought out the green of his eyes and clung to his shoulders and waist like a lover. No matter how good they looked on him, Dean hated those clothes and their predecessors. His rentboy clothes. 

When he was finished dressing and styling his hair, Dean took a long look at himself in the mirror. He looked hot. Other than the damned bowlegs, which he had no idea where they came from since he'd never been on a horse, Dean had been aware of his looks since he was tiny, when women would make remarks like, "he's going to be a heartbreaker" and "lock up your daughters, ladies". None of those mothers could have imagined what life had dealt the big-eyed blond little boy. He was already sporting faint lines in the outer corners of his eyes. Maybe that was it. Dad thought Dean was getting too old, that he was no longer the fresh meat he once had been, that he was too complacent. Yes, his customers had liked it when, in the early days, he'd fought. But he'd come out of those encounters much worse for wear, and he'd learned to hold down his gorge and violent repulsion till later. 

Whatever. What mattered was that Dad didn't get his claws in Sam, didn't make him trick. If that meant Dean had to give triple the blow jobs and let himself be fucked a few more times, then he'd do it. Not for the first time, Dean wondered about Sam's love of having his hole played with. But then, he'd never had a fully erect member shoved inside him without prep or lube, it had always been easy and gentle at first, loving. Occasionally, when Dean was bent over, some guy would move in a way that hit him differently on the inside. It was enough to make him hard, which his customers appreciated if they cared at all, but he'd never come from it. He charged an extra $50 if they wanted to get him off. 

Finally, Dean was as ready as he'd ever be. The bar wouldn't be busy for another couple of hours, anyway. He brushed his teeth, tucked a tiny bottle of mouthwash, half a dozen condoms and a tube of lube the size of his pinkie into various pockets. A good night would be no blood, no threats or requests for kinky shit, and no need to clear out in a hurry. The worst thing was that Dad insisted on accompanying him; while it was true he'd saved Dean's life if not sanity, he was also witness to every degrading return. "Ready," he gritted out, walking out of the bathroom. 

* * *

John looked Dean over and sighed, wishing the boy wasn't so handsome. More than that, he wished he himself were younger, so he could do this demeaning task himself and not put it on his son's shoulders. But wishes didn't count. If they did, Mary would be alive. Dean would use his skills as a mechanic to repair rich guys' cars, and Sammy would be a mathlete, not only once, but all the time.

Dean gave him his 'the fuck, I don't understand' look, and John wished he could explain, but he repeated to himself that Dean must not, ever, know about the curse in his brother's blood. Maybe, they could finally hunt down the demon who'd started all this. The latest intel sounded promising, but in order to act on it, they needed money. A lot of money. More than John could ever make, regardless how many guys he offered to suck or let them fuck him. Youth was the only thing that counted for gay men, and John should consider himself lucky that he landed a trick at all, once in a blue moon.

He steeled himself as he opened the front door. "Shall we take the truck or the Impala?"

* * *

It was obvious Dean wasn't going to get any answers. Dad looked him over, the lack of criticism meaning his appearance was acceptable, and nodded. 

"Truck," Dean said shortly. He might or might not be in any condition to drive later. Now that the Impala was his, he didn't want anyone else driving it. Well, he'd teach Sam, if the kid ever spoke to him again, but that was it. 

Why tonight of all nights? His heart was heavy over the fight with Sam earlier. Knowing what was ahead of him didn't help, but it was a different problem and Dean kept them separate in his mind. In general, this sort of thing heralded either them moving on to the next town, or Dad buying buying specialized weapons or items of lore. "Let's get it over with. How much do you need me to make tonight?" 

However much it was, he steeled himself. The more unpleasant the act, the more he could charge. Anything to keep Sam from the worst part of his – their – lives. Until it broke him. 

* * *

_"How much do you need me to make tonight?"_

_"We_ need you to get as much as you can, but there won't be enough time. Not with Sammy drunk and home alone." John wished he could just tell Dean to go and return when he had the money, but he had two sons, and he'd never forgive himself if something happened – something worse than what they had to do.

"There's this new place downtown. The 'Pornucopia'. I doubt that it will last long with a name like that, but they say the clientele is posh. We'll start there." 

John couldn't meet Dean's eyes, and they drove in silence until he parked the truck outside the locale. He noticed a few expensive cars and it raised his hope that Dean could score quickly. On the other hand, people with money often had eccentric tastes... He didn't want to think about it. The one time, Dean had had to go to the ER... They couldn't afford that.

"Are you ready?"

* * *

They got in Dad's truck and made the drive downtown. The big red-and-blue blinking marquee looked out of place amongst the few small town thrift stores, gift shops, and a pharmacy. "Pornucopia", Dean snorted to himself. The name was so bad, and it had been even worse coming out of his father's mouth. Gave him a case of the heebie-geebies. 

Along the street, he noticed some higher end cars, and a few people who were dressed up in obvious club attire – women in short skirts and impossibly high heels, men in gear similar to Dean's with expensive shoes, belts, and watches, standing around on the sidewalk, smoking. He felt conspicuous in their heap of junk, and kept his face away from the window. "You going in?" he asked John, who had gone around the block and was making a second, slower pass by the building, which looked to be an old, remodeled theater. Maybe there'd be a balcony where he could conduct his... business. 

His dad had flat-out told him that no matter how much he made, it wouldn't be enough. Why did he have to do that? Before he even started, Dean had already failed, even at this.

"Go around the side again," he told his dad. "Give me some money." There'd be admission in a place like this. No one knew him here, or he hoped not, and he wouldn't start off the night by raising a stink about paying to get in. He'd be recognizable enough. 

When Dad found a parking spot, Dean took the twenty he handed over, rechecked his pockets, made sure his fake ID was easily accessible, and, in the shelter of the open door, lit a cigarette. John made a disapproving noise but Dean ignored it. Till they were home again, they were no longer father and son. If they encountered each other, then Dad either served as his pimp, or in some cases, he played a prospective John, to play off other potential customers and jack up the price. Ironic... John the John. It wasn't the first time Dean had thought of that. 

Smoothing down his shirt, Dean adopted his signature cocky stroll and walked to the end of the short line in front of the door. As expected, half the people turned to stare at him, and he stared back, brazen and with just a tiny smirk on his lips. "So, this place as... hardcore as its name?" he addressed the small crowd as whole. Taking a drag off his cig, he let the bluish smoke trickle out his nostrils. 

The doorman looked in his direction. Twice. Huh. Could be his first trick, for all he knew. Dean entered the club with no money shelled out, flicking his smoke away, and getting a few more eyeballs on the way in. The bass beat was already pounding in his spine, and he found a place at the bar. "Whiskey, top shelf, make it a double," he told bartender with a lazy smile. Too bad pretty women didn't pay. 

* * *

John followed Dean slowly, watching him worm his way past the doorman without having to pay. Predictably, the guy refused to let John enter a few minutes later, even though John offered him money. John took the man aside, showed him his badge, and informed him that he'd just let a minor in. The description of Dean made the guy squirm, and given the choice of John calling for backup or the doorman letting him pass, the problem was quickly resolved.

Dean was already at the bar, flirting with the man behind it when John caught up. Choosing a seat close, but not too close by, even John was surprised by the speed at which the sharks started circling the bait: Dean hadn't even finished ordering his drink when the first potential customer approached. 

"Let me get that for you?" The man had dark eyes and matching hair, slicked back over his head. He wore an expensive-looking Italian style suit with glittering cufflinks and a golden chain around his neck. John narrowed his eyes as he watched Dean's reaction.

* * *

'Here we go', Dean thought to himself, as an oily, dark-haired guy approached him. He looked to be in his late twenties, which probably meant mid-thirties. Gold necklace, earring, cufflinks, ring (not wedding), watch. Real gold. Dean had learned to spot the difference. Expensive suit, by the cut and cloth. His build was burly although not fat, and his shiny, swarthy face turned weird colors under the whirling disco lights.

Dean preferred guys closer to his own age, but the older they were, the more likely to be loaded. He'd never stolen from a trick before, too risky. This one might be a possibility, though. He had a fat roll of bills in his pocket. While he downed his drink, Dean looked over the rest of the pack circling him and decided that since money was more important than what he liked, he let the guy pay for his drink. They exchanged names – Aron, pronounced with the stress on the second syllable – and Dean gave his rentboy name, Jayce. 

Next thing he knew, the guy wanted to dance. Casting a dubious look at the dancefloor, which was all hetero couples so far, Dean smiled but said out of the side of his mouth, "Nah. We'd get tossed. But I can show you my moves in back, if you want. If you think you can afford it." That was fast, even for him, but Aron was running his beady eyes over Dean's body already, pausing at his mouth, his nicely displayed bulge and the tiny nipples that had erected mostly out of self-preservation under his thin shirt, so Dean made his lips extra pouty and shifted his stance to bring his assets closer to the dark, lust-filled stare. "Or whatever," he shrugged casually, after a long pause. 

Turning away, he started to scan for a better mark when someone grabbed his elbow. Ha. Bingo. "Name your price, boy." The voice was gruff in his ear. 

"Name your poison," Dean retorted, and gestured with his head to where he was pretty sure the men's room was, judging from the flow of people. Aron made to pull him in that direction. Easily shaking him off, Dean shuddered but followed. He knew the rules, and if the dude didn't play that way, he had more choices already salivating out there. Always cash up front. No free anything, but always offer. So far, John hadn't intervened. Probably getting drunk. Hypocrite.

Soon, they were standing in front of two urinals, and Aron was definitely looking. "Fifty for a hand job; a hundred for a blow job; two-fifty you fuck me, eight hundred for the night. Safety is not optional. Specials are extra. Cash before anything goes down." There, he'd said his little speech, keeping the cocky grin on his face. This was more than Dean had ever asked before, but it was probably nothing to this guy. 

* * *

John couldn't hear the conversation, but he knew from Dean's posture and the expression on his face that he was about to close the deal. Dean gestured to the restrooms, and he and the man left. Although he was itching to follow, make sure that Dean didn't get hurt... bad... John stayed put. Dean had him on speed dial, and if anything happened, John would find them and cut the guy's balls off. He sipped on his beer, not daring to drink anything stronger as long as he was watching his eldest' back, and prayed that his cell wouldn't vibrate tonight.

* * *

Aron listened while checking out the goods. The prices Jayce told him were in the upper range, but the boy could easily charge more and still have customers lined up. He nodded.

"Before you recite the whole list of specials, why not keep this simple. The night. Me and my friend. No permanent marks. You can tell your pimp the number of the hotel room. Let's make it an even five thou. That go for you?"

* * *

_No permanent marks._ Every warning bell and instinct in Dean's head went off, but he – they – needed the money too badly to pass it up. "Okay to all that. Just you and your buddy, and you pay my pimp up front." He lowered his lashes, slouched a little. This guy seemed like the dominant type. 

It was easier to refer to Dad in that manner when Aron already had. Five grand was a lot more dosh than he had ever personally seen in one lump, and maybe Dad would for once agree Dean had done something right. 

* * *

"Deal," Aron said. "You will understand, though, that I'm not going to shell out five grand at the bar. You got a car or something, so we could go for a quick spin, I'll pay, we get dropped off at the hotel. That work for you? Oh, and before I forget. One thing you should know about me. I'm not gay. And neither is my friend. We want some first-hand information from you, for, let's say, educational reasons. We understand each other?"

* * *

Pfft. This guy would want his own wheels when he got a load of Dad's beater, but Dean wasn't about to enlighten him yet. He nodded his agreement again, and said, "It's all good. Doesn't matter whether you're gay, straight, or omni-sexual. All the same to me." Actually, it wasn't. Straight guys tended to be a lot less knowledgeable about how their bodies worked, and what it really took for gay sex between men. 

Dean let Aron precede him out the door, he kept an eye out for their Dad. Inside, he was keyed up over the amount of money this would bring to his family, and nervous as hell over what he'd have to do all night in the name of earning it. As soon as he spotted John leaning on the bar with a shot glass in front of him, Dean touched Aron's arm and gestured that direction. "We need a ride," he said shortly, as soon as he was close enough to be heard. They would do the deal outside.

* * *

Well, it isn't all the same for me," Aron replied, his voice a little sharper now. "But as long as you understand that, we'll be fine."

John's eyes narrowed when Dean approached with his customer. He didn't like the guy. That he wanted a ride should make John a little more comfortable, but a ride to a place didn't necessarily mean that the action would go down there. Seeing the man open the truck's passenger door with stiff fingers would have made John smile on any other occasion – the guy looked as if the car handle would give him the clap – but he was too worried to be amused.

When the guy handed over the money – _five thousand fucking dollars!_ – John had to fight to keep his face straight and unimpressed while his intestines cramped painfully. Had Dean, in a desperate attempt to please his father, just signed up for a serious hospital gig afterward? Dean's face was shut off and his posture didn't reveal anything.

"We'll be staying at the Mercury Hotel, room 431," the man announced and John nodded. The place agreed with the posh clothes. Maybe he just wasn't aware of rentboy fees, or money didn't matter to him. John would spend the rest of the night clinging to this naive assumption.

"Call me," he hissed at Dean when they'd reached the hotel and got out of the car. 

The john had obviously heard it. "He will call you in the morning," he said in a flat voice. "Until then, there's no need for you to stay here. We're not going to hurt him."

Not sure whether to believe the accuracy of the last statement, John thought that at least it didn't sound as if Dean was intended to be the protagonist in a snuff scene. Wondering whether he should voice his concerns, he glanced at Dean, whose jaw was set. He sighed. There wasn't really a question. They needed the money, and he had Sam to worry about, too.

John nodded. "I'll pick you up in the morning, then," he said gruffly, got into the car without another look at Dean, and drove off.


	5. Chapter 5

John was glad for the steering wheel under his hands so he wouldn't bite his nails. When Dean had called, he'd sounded normal, but John knew that Dean would never admit to feeling weak unless he was close to dying. It was something he'd picked up from John, and most of the time John was proud of his eldest son, but in situations like right now he wished he could read Dean.

Five thousand dollars. John couldn't imagine what Dean had to do for this insane amount of money. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know – no strike that, he was sure he did _not_ want to know – what had happened, but it was a moot point since Dean never spoke about these things. Maybe it was a silent agreement between them. John hated himself for demanding this of Dean, but he kept telling himself that it was necessary if either of his boys were to have a future. Dean must never find out about Sammy...

_Sammy._ Even if his mind would have been at rest about Dean in the hands of these guys, John wouldn't have been able to sleep. Sam had been violently sick a few times, and John had had his hands full with cleaning up after him, feeding him water, and promising him that he wouldn't die. John had no clue as to what might have driven the usually sensible Sam to drinking himself to the verge of alcohol poisoning. Maybe he could press an answer out of Dean later, but right now, both boys needed their rest. 

And there was Dean, looking cool and unconcerned as he approached the curb when John pulled up. John didn't say anything when Dean opened the passenger door, preferring to leave the floor to Dean. If his son wanted to talk, he would. If Dean wanted to ride home in silence, John would accept it. After what he'd, once again, asked of his eldest, John wouldn't be surprised if Dean pulled a knife on him, but Dean looked too worn out for anything. John's heart ached and he opened his mouth despite his intentions.

"Home?"

* * *

Well, it could have been worse, Dean thought. It was between six and seven in the morning by his estimation, the sun just coming up, and he hadn't slept. No, he'd been busy all night. 

During the last hour, he'd been allowed to shower, dress, and his clients had ordered a huge breakfast and coffee. First, he called Dad for his ride. Keeping to his feet, Dean choked down some toast and bacon, and gratefully swallowed some of the too-hot coffee. The room was really nice, a suite, actually, and the beds were huge and plush, the nicest he'd ever been on, but he wasn't going to sit down if he could help it. 

Before they let him leave, Aron gave him another wad of cash. He'd already stuffed $500 into his jeans pocket sometime before dawn, which he didn't want to think about. Confused, Dean looked from one Arnello brother to the other, then down to the bills in his hand. 

"It's your tip," Joey told him with a raised eyebrow. "No one ever tip you before? We appreciate your... service."

About to shake his head, Dean decided against it. He was already unsophisticated, not to mention poor, compared to these two. 

Aron added, "It's a grand from each of us. You deserve it, kid. Here..." He pulled a business card from the pocket of his suit jacket thrown over the chair back. "Take my card. We're visiting from Jersey, but if you ever need a lawyer or another good fuck, look us up."

Dean accepted the card, looked at the fancy print on the heavy paper, and said, "Thanks, I'll hold on to this." He just wanted to get out of there. These guys had issues, for all that on the surface they featured themselves 'normal' or at least functional. He was pretty positive they were mob. Tightly wound and snappish, they demanded immediate obedience. Each seemed to really want that of each other, and since neither was the slightest bit submissive to the other, although Joey was a little more comfortable in his own skin and a little more easy-going, that was Dean's job. That and Aron's endless questions, and Joey's non-stop sarcastic contradictions. Oy. 

He rode the elevator down two floors the minute they let him out, hugging him like they were all good buddies, not even caring about the walk of shame across the lobby and out the front doors where Dad had just pulled up. Mouth set firmly, Dean pulled open the door and gingerly lowered himself onto the front seat. In all these years, Dad had cared for his injuries and watched his face and movements after, but never asked Dean anything. Nada. And Dean wasn't about to talk now. Fuck that. 

"Where else?" he sighed tiredly when Dad asked him about home. As if there was somewhere else to go in a small town on a Sunday morning. Church? The very idea poked his brain like a sharp stick. Dean was brought up to respect all belief systems, but he eschewed to none. God, if there was such a thing, didn't care about humans. Not Winchesters. Not Dean. It was up to him to worry about himself.

After a moment, Dean dug the two grand, his tip, from his left front pocket. He had decided to keep the other five Benjamins for himself, as emergency cash. He'd fucking earned it! Just moving his arm that far was a chore. "Here, another two," he told John. He set the roll of green paper on the seat between them. "Don't say I never earn enough." His voice was bitter, and Dean couldn't be bothered about the tone right now. He needed out of these clothes, into a hot bath. The shower had washed the residue of sweat, come, and other things off him, but it wasn't enough. He just hoped Sam wasn't up yet. 

It didn't take long to cross the quiet streets. They pulled up to their place, and John turned the key, the truck giving a couple of coughs and shutting down. "Dad, let me sleep in your bed." Dean nearly panicked at the thought of sleeping – or not sleeping – next to Sam right now. John had better understand he wasn't wanted there either. But he'd always cut Dean a break for a day or two, after. He grasped the door handle, and mentally prepared himself to move. This was going to suck so hard, and not in a good way. 

* * *

John gawped at Dean for long seconds before focusing on the road again. Another two thousand dollars – what the hell had gone on in that hotel room? But Dean didn't elaborate. Instead, he admonished in a bitter voice that John should never again complain that Dean didn't earn enough.

His heart lurched. John wanted to stop the car and kneel before his son, beg his forgiveness, hug and pet him and promise that Dean would never again have to do this because his father loved him and forcing him to sell himself was killing John. He opened his mouth to tell Dean how proud he was, but the words never made it out. If he praised his eldest now, Dean would only think it was because of the insane amount of money, and not because, despite everything he did to Dean, John really loved him. No, John's love had to be sacrificed for the sake of his sons, just as Dean's body and sexuality.

It was clear from his posture that Dean was if not in pain, then at least in considerable discomfort. When he asked to sleep in John's bed, John agreed immediately. 

"Of course," he said as gently as he dared. "I won't let anything," he swallowed, _happen to you_ , "disturb your sleep. I can make you some food while you shower, and then, if you need me to... do anything... you let me know, right?"

The latter was an offer to look after Dean's injuries, but neither of them would ever refer to it as such. John prayed that Dean wouldn't require his help, not because he wasn't willing to do it, but because he hoped that Dean wasn't hurt.

Dean looked so miserable when he stepped out of the truck that John's shields slipped for a second. 

"Anything, son," he said sincerely and touched Dean's arm.

* * *

Dean flinched away from John's touch on his arm as much as his voice, which came across to him as over-solicitous. A second later, he regretted the jerky movement. The bruises over his hipbones pulled and throbbed, adding to the red miasma in his lower body. Since he was hurting anyway, Dean stepped out of the car and heaved himself to his feet. "Not hungry," he stated over the dented roof of the vehicle. "Could use some pain killers, the stronger the better." 

He knew he wasn't bleeding – he'd checked himself. Along with all their other trappings of wealth, his customers had lube, the very best, too; different kinds, even. Joey had to be a connoisseur of the stuff. If he hadn't showered, Dean reflected, he'd probably smell, at least in part, like a fruit basket. Stifling a hysterical giggle, he avoided his dad's eyes and made it into the house. 

Inside, he shuffled to the bedroom their dad had claimed and lowered himself in a sort of sideways approach onto the bed, knocking aside some musty old books. Immediately he kicked off his shoes and curled up on his side. Maybe he could sleep. He needed it, but his thoughts spun too fast. The massive amount of cash. The brothers, both claiming to be straight, one for sure obviously not. The Viagra. That or something similar, because they'd each had him four or five times and they weren't what he'd call spring chickens. His hole felt stretched beyond recognition, battered and sore as hell. He'd need a couple days this time. 

As Dean knew he would, Dad came to look in on him soon. Damn him. Deep down, Dean knew John felt remorse over... this, five years of this now... but he couldn't accept any show of it in his direction, it made it worse. Spotting a water glass in his dad's hand through slitted eyes, Dean decided not to feign sleep, but he only moved enough to swallow the pills and water offered to him. Once they kicked in, he'd undress some and pull covers over himself. 

"Keep Sam out," he whispered harshly. "Don't want him to see any of this." There were bite marks on him, besides the bruises. In all their play, Dean had never allowed that between himself and Sam and now here he was, as if he were someone else's property. For one night, he more or less had been. 

* * *

When Dean recoiled from John's touch, the older man's mask slipped back into place. While it hurt on some plane, he was also relieved. Dean wasn't hungry, which, too didn't surprise John, but when he asked for something for the pain, John thought Dean opened up for a fraction of a second. "I'll get you something," he promised.

Watching Dean walk into the apartment, John grit his teeth. Dean's gait was that of an eighty-year old, and he wouldn't allow his father to help. Except for the painkillers, which John hurried to fetch. He had a batch of stronger stuff reserved for really bad times, but seeing Dean suffer like this, John thought that Dean would appreciate them. They'd make him sleepy as well, and the kid really needed rest.

"Sleep," John said when Dean collapsed on the bed again after downing the pills. "I'll keep Sam out." Wondering whether he should offer his help again, he knew he'd be shot down. Maybe Dean would even feel offended, as if a repeated offer implied that Dean couldn't handle things himself. When Dean didn't move, John reached out and pulled the blanket over his son without touching him, then left the room before Dean could complain.

* * *

In less than ten minutes, the pills – Vicodin – kicked in and Dean sluggishly picked at the buttons on his dress shirt and jeans, rolling this way and that to get them off. It took forever, and he nearly fell asleep in the middle of it. At last he got his limbs untangled from them and rolled to his side again to pull the blankets over himself. Even at this remove, he could still feel the hands of the Arnello brothers on his body. Both of them had felt him up, grabbed on, invaded, pulled... After such experiences, he always had a couple days where he was sure he'd never want sex again. Dean shuddered, and again, yawned, and felt himself falling into sleep. 

* * *

John's initial plan had been to leave town early in the morning, but Dean was in no state for that. Maybe they could take off later. There was, however, also Sam to consider. Even if Dean were rested later in the day, John didn't think he'd appreciate having his grumpy and hung-over younger brother in the passenger seat. Neither did John look forward to hours of discussions and whining if Sam rode with him in the truck. Still, Dean deserved a grace period, and as for Sam... 

What the hell was wrong with the kid anyway? John decided to check on his youngest. Sam was deeply asleep with a frown on his face. He'd kicked the blanket off, and John gently covered him up again. 

Satisfied that both his boys were at rest for now, John took his car keys and left. He wouldn't be able to pick up the book that promised to tell him more about the demon hunting them, but he'd use the day to replace some parts on the truck before it broke down completely. He wished he had Dean at his side for this. Working on the cars was about the only thing Dean appeared to enjoy together with John. True, Dean kept nagging that he wanted in on more hunts, but John didn't consider him ready yet. Of course, he was fooling himself. Would he ever think his son was ready to face the really evil things? Once again, John wished that they didn't have to hunt, that they weren't forced to sell Dean's body, that he and Dean could simply enjoy tinkering with the old truck.

Well, it was early morning. There might be a chance later or the following day. Hoping that Dean would feel better after resting, John set out to the scrap yard for the parts he needed.

* * *

Down for the count, out like a light, Dean awoke with a jolt. His dreams had been disturbing, but vague. By the angle of the sun, he had slept several hours. Now, in his own skin, in a strange bed, he had a moment of disorientation. The scent was familiar, but it wasn't the usual combination of himself and Sam. Right, this was Dad's room. The door was closed. Groaning, he took stock. There was no doubt about it, he was still sore as hell, stiff, bruised. Well, Dad had more or less promised he could have a couple days 'off'. Fuck it, he was just going to stay in bed.

Dozing lightly for while, Dean received increasingly urgent signals from his bladder. Moving was slow business, but he pulled himself upright and, after a quick look out the door, limped to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. After relieving himself, he decided to soak in the tub, as he'd considered earlier. Bending over to plug the drain and start the water running was enough to give him a brief shiver of panic, but he controlled it, and heaved himself into the hot water without killing himself. Dean hissed as the water lapped against his abused hole. He cursed under his breath and slowly relaxed.

Now that he wasn't focusing entirely on his own hurts, Dean realized what he was smelling. Sam must have been sicker than a dog during the night. Stupid ass. That would teach him to get drunk, not to mention mix his liquor. Knowing his brother, Dean could estimate the bitchface that would greet him the next time they encountered each other. He wasn't looking forward to it.

The rest of the house was quiet, though. Dad must have gone out to run errands. Well, now he had the means to buy whatever he so desperately needed, not that he'd revealed anything to Dean beyond the _means_ to that end. He should be used to it, but the ongoing pattern stuck in his craw. But he'd better just swallow, smile, and shut up, or next thing he knew he'd be responsible for training his brother on another skill, the one he'd absolutely put his foot down over. Jeez, no matter how traumatic Dean found it, not that he'd ever use that word, the thought of Sam being subject to... that... No. Just no.

There was movement from the next room. He'd better get out and back to Dad's room. The hot water had helped his tense and sore body, but it had also made him so floppy it took three tries to get out of the tub and finally he just heaved himself over the rim and onto his hands and knees on the thin old towel he'd laid on the floor as a bath mat. Nudging the tee and boxers he'd slept in over, he got himself up on the closed toilet seat, dried himself, and wrestled the clothes on. Even the soft cotton of the old teeshirt made him hiss as it chafed his nipples. The left was worst. There were bite marks there, too. They left the skin unbroken, though. Probably as wary of his bodily fluids as Dean was of theirs.

A minute later, he was back in Dad's room, in bed, blankets pulled up for warmth and as armor. They'd been teaching Sam to pick locks, but Dad had agreed to keep the kid out. He'd better. Soon, Dean was going to need more pills. He'd better take advantage while he could. They were a luxury they couldn't afford, and there was always the chance of addiction. Funny, Dad never considered his drinking a problem, but no one had better get hooked on anything else. Just another Winchester contradiction.

* * *

Apart from his ever-bad conscience toward his boys, John supposed it was one of the best days he'd had in a while. Not only had he found a differential for the truck, but the scrap handler had quoted a much lower price than John had expected. Given how hung over the guy was, John hurried to leave the place before the man changed his mind. 

When he returned to their rental, he noticed a large whitish splotch on the Impala's hood. John frowned. Dean wouldn't be happy to see his 'baby' soiled. His mood lightened a little. Here was something he could do for Dean. He went inside the apartment for a bucket of hot water, then cleaned the car meticulously. Smiling a little, John told himself that the love for the Impala was something he and his eldest had in common. Already when Dean had been a small boy, one of his greatest pleasures had been when John had allowed him to help polish her.

As he checked her for other smudges, John noticed that one of the back windows wasn't fully closed. He opened the door to wind it up – and stared at the dried puddle of what he immediately identified as semen. The sheer amount of it was astonishing; he'd obviously underestimated Dean. It also explained why Sammy had hit the bottle. If Dean had dumped him at home in order to get laid, Sam must have been more than frustrated, and John knew his youngest to have a temper.

Dean would be embarrassed that John had discovered the stain, but given how he'd moved like an octogenarian earlier, John didn't think that Dean would be up to cleaning the mess, and it had best be taken care of a.s.a.p. Just because he couldn't remember the last time he'd got laid in the car, he still knew how to deal with the evidence. There was even some cleaning solution in the trunk, and it only took him a few minutes to clean the mess up.

Considering that Dean would be out for the count for at least this day, John decided to replace the differential in the truck by himself. It was an easier job for two people, but he could do it alone. When he'd tightened the last screws, he went inside the apartment for a shower, but the bathroom door was locked. In the kitchen, Sam stared at him from bleary eyes, so it was Dean in the bath. Since John had promised to keep Sam away, John told his younger son that they'd go on a coffee run together. He managed to scrub most of the oil and grime off his hands over the kitchen sink, then herded the groaning and muttering Sam into the truck. 

Already less than two traffic lights later, he wished he'd left Sam at home when the bitching and whining began immediately after they'd started driving, but John thought that Dean really deserved to rest. He gritted his teeth and tried to blank out Sam's complaints about life in general and his in particular.

At the coffee shop, John bought not only coffee but also a selection of pies – making sure it was paid with money he'd earned hustling, not from Dean's night. He knew it was ridiculous, but it felt important to him.

Sam still looked green around the gills, which meant no pie for the younger son, then. John would be surprised if the kid could even hold down dry toast, but he had an extra shot of espresso added to Sam's coffee. Hopefully, Sam had – at least for now – learned a lesson about drinking.

The door to his own room was closed again when they returned. Sam wordlessly took his coffee and made a point out of slamming the door to the boys' bedroom behind him. Shaking his head, John knocked gently on the locked door behind which Dean was hiding.

"Dean? There's coffee and pie if you feel up to it."

* * *

Warm from the bath, Dean slept again. After what felt like hours, probably was hours, of the kind of deep, bottom-of-the-ocean sleep he rarely experienced, he awoke to the sound of knocking on the door, and his dad's voice asking him if he wanted pie and coffee.

The day could come when Dean wouldn't crave the sweetness of pie or the promise of the dark, earthy caffeine rush of coffee, but not today. "Yeah, I'll have some," he croaked. His throat was touchy and clotted, and Dean hoped he wasn't getting sick. Could just be from... he pushed the thought aside. Stretching carefully, Dean decided that he was a little better than earlier. He still winced as he stood up, but gathered himself and walked to the kitchen, prepared to face the music.

Lemon – he hoped it was lemon meringue. Or peach. Or blueberry. Or... It didn't really matter, as long as it was sweet and flaky. "Hey, Dad," he muttered. John's hands were clean but his clothes had grease and dirt on them. "Did you fix your truck? Should've waited for me." He almost sat at the table, stopped himself in time. He'd eat at the counter by the sink, he decided. That would be easier. John had cut the pie into eights and plunked a wedge onto his plate.

* * *

"I replaced the differential," John explained. "Don't worry, you'll get your chance." He wasn't being cynic. In their line of work, they often used their cars for purposes their builders had never intended them for. "There's always bits and pieces left to fix with these old girls. Speaking of which," he made sure his voice was level, "I washed the Impala. Should've done that before giving her to you, so I thought I might as well." He wouldn't mention the mess on the back seat and hoped Dean would get the message that John wasn't criticizing him.

Seeing how Dean still moved carefully and avoided sitting down, John set a couple of pills on the plate with the pie. "We're not driving today, so you can take these. We'll pack up tonight and set out in the morning." He hesitated, then made up his mind. It was time to show Dean his trust. Dean would shrug it off, but John knew it would make a difference to his son. Or at least he hoped so.

"Bobby has tracked down a guy who's offering a book that we're sure can tell us more about the demon that killed your mother," John said deliberately. "We're going to his place to check it out. There may also be a hunt nearby, twin sisters who're supposed to have become vengeful spirits because they weren't buried together. He said it's a two-man job, so we'll leave Sam with Bobby and you and I will go after the ladies." 

John saw Dean stiffen and sighed. He was used to issuing commands, and although Dean always followed it was clear that he didn't like being ordered around all the time. "I'd really appreciate your help on this hunt," he said a little more gruffly than intended. "You're a good hunter and I want you to watch my back on this one."

* * *

Other than Dad gave him two pills with his pie and didn't criticize him not keeping the Impala spotless, it seemed like things were back to normal. Bobby had scrounged a possible source, Dad was hot on the trail, and it was 'the thing that killed your mother' all over again. He wondered if John would ever tell him the full truth about what he knew, or thought he knew. How could someone be driven for a decade and a half out of nothing but revenge? Sure, whatever it was needed killing. But they weren't, at the start of it, any more or less special than other people who had bad things, supernatural things happen to them. Were they? He couldn't help but speculate. 

Oh, shit. Dad said he'd 'washed' the car. What if he'd cleaned out the inside of the car, too? Like the back seat? Dean blinked once but kept his mouth shut about that, and asked a question to cover that train of thought before he blushed. "So, how much is this book going to cost us... you?" It wasn't his money, even though he'd earned it. "And what's your plan for the sisters? Sounds like a salt and burn, maybe we have to find and move one's remains first."

* * *

Relieved that Dean didn't comment on him cleaning the Impala, John followed his son's hint and focused on the job. "Bobby doesn't know how much the guy wants for the book, but he said we'd get only one shot at purchasing it." He hoped the money they had would be enough. It was another desperate chance at keeping Sammy safe, and John would give his soul for that, but whoever owned the book was more likely to accept money.

"The sisters, well, salt and burn should solve it, but the main problem will be finding the bodies. Apparently, one of the girls got lost on a hiking trip three years ago. She was never found, but her sister claimed to keep speaking with her all the time. The family thought she'd gone nuts from grief and had her hospitalized after a while. A few months later, she disappeared from the mental institution, and six weeks ago, things started happening to various people involved with the twins."

John took a sip of coffee and put a second piece of pie on Dean's plate. "At first it was sightings. The teacher who'd supervised the field trip during which the first girl vanished and a nurse from the hospital swear they saw the twins. Then, a school mate who didn't like the girls and always mocked them found two dead squirrels on his porch. He's convinced it was them. A few more folks claim to have seen the girls. Last week, one of the doctors from the mental hospital crashed his car into a tree as he was swerving out of the way of the girls standing in the middle of the road. He survived, but that's what raised Bobby's attention. He suggested someone better take care of it before they end up killing people."

He'd never asked Dean's opinion before, but his son wasn't a little kid anymore. John would need help for this hunt and maybe it was time to show Dean that his hunting skills were appreciated.

"How do you suggest we go about this?"

* * *

Never before had Dad asked his opinion on how to hunt something. Despite his leftover pique – and sore ass – Dean lit up inside with a strange pride. He even smiled a little, before he caught himself and schooled his features back to seriousness. "They seem to be all over the place: sightings, dead animals, appearing in places, deliberately, to hurt someone now. It always escalates. Well, before we can lay them to rest, we need to find their bodies. We'll talk to the leader of the hike and anyone else who was there to find out where the one girl was last seen. And we'll need something of hers – for both of them. Either we can use a spell to trace the remains, or we can call her, see if she'll talk to us." Dean knew such spells existed, if not how to work them. "We'll need protective magic for ourselves." 

There were a lot of other questions, if they could put all that together. "Were they identical twins? I've heard that they have a psychic connection, oftentimes. Maybe we can use one to locate the other." 

Shoveling a forkful of the pie into his mouth, then taking a slurp of coffee, Dean waited to see what John thought. Chances were he already had a plan, and was testing Dean's knowledge. 

* * *

"They were identical twins," John nodded. "If they'd lived, they'd be seventeen now. Except for the tragedy, there's nothing noticeable about the family. The parents are devastated from the loss, but refuse to believe that their daughters are haunting anything or anyone. Kinda, innocent kids go straight to paradise, blah, blah, blah. I'm not blaming them," he sighed, "but we know that things don't always work that way."

He thought over Dean's suggestions. "Starting with the teacher is probably a good idea. There's also a younger brother who may not remember much but might share a part of the girls' connection if there's any. Spells, now, I hadn't thought of that. It isn't the solution, of course, but it would buy us some time. I'm sure Bobby has plenty of useful lore on that." 

John smiled grimly. "That's actually a very good idea you had to solve a different problem. As much as your brother keeps complaining about hunting, he'll complain even more at being left behind. If we set him up in Bobby's library, Sammy could put that big brain of his to work and actually do something useful for us by finding a spell to locate or summon the girls. The same goes for protective magic. Sammy will go for it. The worst of his nightmares is that something bad could happen to you, and here's a way for him to stop evil things from getting at you."

His smile widened. "Very good, Dean."

* * *

"Thanks." Dean cut off anything extra. He'd reserve his efforts for 'business'. Later, though, he would need to reflect upon his dad's opinion of what Sam's worst fear was. So far as Dean could tell, Sam feared nothing, not that he'd been hunting for real yet to know what being in a split-second, life-or-death situation was yet. Right now, after what had transpired between them, it was more believable to think Sam wouldn't be all that upset if Dean never came home. Or whatever they could call home that week. John couldn't know about that, the nature of their falling out or even that there'd been one – it would lead to awkward questions. 

"Yeah, Sam knows his research, and he's better at Latin. We should get him a real computer." Dean raised one eyebrow at John, met his eyes for a second, then went back to his pie. Eating while standing up, hunched over the counter, was a bitch. "Anyway, no, the spells would only help find the girls. If we're lucky. Does the family have a burial plot? If it's true that they're causing this ruckus because they want to be buried beside each other, we'll have to get them there, I mean physically. Transporting bodies is just... Ew. Yeah, I know. Part of the job." If there was a corpse, or corpses, Dad's truck would be better for that.

Dean mused aloud, "The little brother... How old is he now? What makes you think he'd have any kind of connection?" 

* * *

"I think he was nine when the first sister vanished," John said. "If the girls ever tried to contact a loved one, it would most likely have been him, since the parents are denying the existence of spirits. Furthermore, bonds between siblings are often tight, and they might have shared something the parents aren't aware of." He looked at Dean. "I'm sure that you and Sam have secrets you don't want me to find out about," John teased.

Just as if he'd heard his name, the bedroom door opened and Sam skulked into the kitchen. His hair was standing up in all directions and he looked warily at his father and brother with red-rimmed eyes. Not saying anything, he poured himself a large glass of tap water, then slouched at the table and groaned.

"Now that you're back among the living," John addressed his youngest, "how about you go take a shower and then clean the bathroom."

If looks could kill, John would have been reduced to a smoking pile of ashes in that moment. Sam scowled as he asked, "Why do I always have to do the chores?"

"Because it was you, mister, who barfed all over the place last night," John explained without pity in his voice. "Next time you feel tempted to drink yourself close to alcohol poisoning, you may want to think about the consequences first. Do you even know how close I came to taking you to the hospital last night? Do you _want_ to be taken away from me and your brother by CPS?"

"At least, I'd be allowed to go to school and have a life," Sam muttered darkly.

"Oh yes, you'd attend school while Dean and I rot in prison for negligence and child abuse. If that's your plan, buddy, you're doing a great job. Only, next time make sure to get yourself picked up by the cops, spend the night in the drunk tank, and be molested by guys four times as old as you instead of being cared for by your family..."

John didn't get to finish because Sam got up and ran to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. John grimaced and spoke to Dean again.

"Now, what were we talking about...? Connection between brothers." He huffed. "Well, maybe you could get through to Sam. He certainly isn't listening to me. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to the end of this teenage rebellion. Mind, you had your times, too, but at least I could count on you to be reasonable most of the time."

* * *

Beyond the bitching and whining over cleaning up his own puke mess, Sam stared wide-eyed and pale at John, for a horrified second at Dean, and then John again. Jesus Christ, Dad was repeating a lot of what Dean had said just the day before, CPS and all that, and it was eerie and just plain _wrong_. The stricken feeling that slithered cold and creepy through Dean didn't even touch the furious look on Sam's face as he ran from the room. A second later, a door slammed. John turned back to Dean then, continuing with his earlier suggestion that Sam and Dean shared a bond between them, secrets between them, that he knew nothing about. 

That was for damned sure. He knew nothing! And he never would. 

Chuckling weakly, Dean shrugged and did his best to agree while not giving away anything specific. He managed, "Well, Sam won't listen to me, neither, when he doesn't want to." Hadn't he spent hours, off and on, trying to make Sam understand things only to have it blow up in his face? He hadn't earned Sam's trust or confidence – he'd earned hatred. It hurt so bad to think about, more than what he'd had to do last night, more than anything physical. "And keep in mind he's only fifteen, or not quite. I doubt his rebellion will go away anytime soon." 

Maybe if they included Sam in this investigation beyond the behind-the-scenes research grunt, he'd take more of a real interest. Dean lowered his voice and said the same to John, adding, "It might work better than me trying to talk to him. The brother to those girls must be around 12 now, not much younger than Sam. Someone he could relate to. We could take him along for the interview – well, you could. Say he's an intern from the high school newspaper. That's not so far-fetched, is it?" 

* * *

"Now, there's an interesting idea," John admitted. "Given the way Sam reacts to anything I've suggested recently, though, this plan might have a higher probability in succeeding if we give him the choice. At the very least, then he cannot complain that the decision was made over his head."

John grinned. "Actually, what we consider grunt work, slaving at the library, is something your brother enjoys – although he'd never admit it if you asked him. Let's see if active participation in a hunt can pry him away from Bobby's moldy folios."

* * *

"Yeah, he does like dusty old books quite a lot," Dean agreed. And then to drive his point again, "as well as any computer he can get his hands on. But a hunter needs to know how to talk to people, how to schmooze, when to apply pressure." It was one thing Dean seemed to have been born with, he admitted to himself, other than when it came to family. Or, if his hormones got in the way, but then sometimes that could help, too. People were more willing to open up to a handsome young man than a gruff, crusty old hunter. Especially if he were to display just a touch of personal interest. Dean doubted Sam would play that angle, but he could make those innocent puppy-dog eyes, and that would be that. 

"So then, that takes care of the sisters, for now, till we talk to the brother, the teacher, and whoever from their town; then we go after the remains. On the other subject," Dean didn't need to elaborate to infer this was about the thing that killed Mom, "am I backing you up on that, too?" 

John kept his sons mostly in the dark about what he knew about it. Just by the type of lore books John collected and snatches of whispered conversations Dean had overheard between their Dad and other hunters, mostly Bobby and Pastor Jim, who they were closest to, he had the feeling it was a big bad – something very powerful and destructive. Something that wouldn't hesitate to track and kill them if they got close to it in the headlong obsession John called hunting. 

Even such speculation didn't change how desperately Dean wanted to help. The thing had left him without a mother. It felt vaguely like betrayal to even think it, but as far as he was concerned, he had lost the most. Sam had never known her, not that he didn't feel for his brother, for the lack. And Dad... he had had years more time with her. He'd had Mary's love for more than ten years. Losing her had turned him totally batshit, and what did that say about him to begin with? Didn't a child need his parent, his mother, more than an adult male needed his woman? Didn't that child also need his father to be whole and sane and stable? Sure, most kids these days grew up with some sort of broken home situation. Seemed to Dean they were a lot more broken than most. He lacked for something so bad, as had Sam, that they'd turned to each other, their teenage libidos running the show. 

Before he gave over to reckless anger or pathetic feeling sorry for himself, Dean turned his thoughts back to business. "I'm ready... I'm not a kid anymore. I'll do whatever to catch the son of a bitch that started all this. If that's convincing Sam about the twins' kid brother, then..." Dean wanted more than anything not to fail, but he was less than confident. Sam was a person, a complicated, stubborn, know-it-all bitch of gangling limbs and temper. Among other things, but he couldn't go there in front of Dad. "Then I'll do it." 

He set his plate and fork in the sink and leveled a look at John. The meds had kicked in again, allowing Dean to straighten up to his full height. For a minute anyway. Damn, he needed more sleep. This time... "You needn't keep Sam out now. If he comes in to bother me, I'll talk to him." 

* * *

It was the second time in a row that Dean mentioned a computer for Sam. John looked down, feeling guilty again. "Dean, as much as Sam would love a computer... and it would help our research... we can't afford one. And no," he said firmly, "I'm not sending you... out... to get the money for one. Leave that to me. I'll find a way..."

He was almost relieved when Dean asked about 'the other subject', although Dean would not like John's answer. He looked straight into his eldest's eyes. "I would always have you back me up. With one exception." The desperation to help was so evident on Dean's face that John decided to enlist him, even if it wasn't in the sense that Dean was hoping. "I don't know enough about it to find it and end it. The one thing I do know is that the most important thing in my life is to keep you and your brother safe. Mark my words, Dean. That demon must never, hear me, _never_ get to Sammy. If it ever comes anywhere near to us, I need you to take your brother and run. Don't turn back for me, don't even look. Will you swear that?"

Dean had offered to talk to Sam, but suddenly John needed to hear that Dean would keep his little brother safe.

* * *

Dean stared at his father, shifting his feet, eyebrows creeping up his forehead. He demanded Dean's word...? Really? What had he ever done to prove himself so unworthy... was it Sam's binge drinking last night? "Dad, I would do anything to keep Sam safe. _Anything_. I promised to do that when I was four years old, and nothing has ever changed, since. You of all people oughta know that." If it came down to it, where he was forced to choose, Dean would have saved Sam over John without prompting. In that sense, this demand from his father was unnecessary. He would also sacrifice himself if it meant Sam's survival, but that was another thing Dad didn't need to know. 

"But I hope such a thing never happens, where we have to cut and run," he added fervently. 

Today, his father said 'demon'. Twice now. Maybe Dean has suspected it, the nature of the beast as it were, but he'd never had clear confirmation before. Demons were nasty business, possessing the unprotected, sometimes the freshly dead. They could also abandon the bodies at will, making them especially slippery. There were ways to make them reveal themselves, such as by saying 'Christos' in their hearing. To cast them out, there were exorcism rituals, with Latin incantations. Surely John was armed with this knowledge. 

"So this demon – why is it so different than any other? Haven't you exorcized demons before? Or, Pastor Jim must have some experience, I'd think." From what Dean had read, it was grueling, at least a two-man job, and the inexperienced were often unable to assist – it was that disturbing. "But I don't. So at least tell me what I need to know... Maybe you'd be possessed. How would I be able to tell?" 

* * *

Dean looked like a scolded child when he reminded John that he'd already promised to keep his brother safe when he was four years old. John sighed. How could he explain something he himself didn't fully understand?

"Dean, when you promised you'd keep Sammy safe... I didn't ask you to protect him from... supernatural forces." John looked at his eldest, hoping the pain wasn't too evident in his voice and his eyes. "I should have never had you make that promise. You were _four_ back then, and I gave you a burden you should never have had to carry. But now..."

He simply didn't know how to give Dean the information he needed to watch out for Sammy without destroying both his sons' future. "This demon... this _thing..._ It's different. Demons are evil and dangerous, but mostly, let's call it, manageable. As you said, there are ways to recognize if a person is possessed. Saying 'Christo'. Sprinkling them with Holy Water. With a proper exorcism it is possible to drive them out, and, yes, I have some experience with that. Not as much as Pastor Jim or Bobby, but it'll do in a nick. I can teach you if you're interested although it's mostly in Latin," John offered.

"The demon that killed your mother, now... that's a whole different story. He – it – is more powerful than either of us can even begin to imagine. And it has an agenda that involves Sammy. Dean, I wish I could tell you more," this wasn't even a lie, "but I really don't know enough about the son of a bitch, and you know how long I've been trying to run him down."

* * *

Shouldn't have asked him? Yeah, fine time for Dad to admit that, Dean thought to himself. But rather than being pissed, he felt more defensive than ever, almost seething, though he couldn't let on. "Well, I did it, what you asked. I always handled it." 

He nodded at the suggestion of learning the words to an exorcism. Then Dad revealed that this demon he was chasing was not only too powerful for words, but had some sort of agenda with Sam. A sliver of ice cut through Dean's belly. So Sam was special, after all, and not just in all the ways Dean had considered him so, before. No wonder Dad was so... hands-off with the kid – either he was scared of losing him, more-so than would be likely in this life, or he was plain scared of Sam. That was a fucking bizarre concept, that Dad would be scared of anything human, much less his own son. This was a man who walked into vampire nests and took out djinn and banished poltergeists on a regular basis. Did that mean Sam wasn't totally human? What the hell was he?

So far, Sam hadn't manifested any occult abilities, no foreseeing or telekinesis, no healing or mind-reading. There were sure to be others that Dean had never heard of, but if Sam had weird talents, Dean was sure he'd be the first his brother would show. 

Lowering his voice further and approaching the table where John slumped over his untouched slice of pie, Dean demanded, "Sam's not psychic or evil... So what has you so convinced this thing wants him? It didn't come after Mom until Sam was six months old. It could just as easily be after you, or me." Whatever they were chasing, Dean had never thought of the repercussions beyond that Dad was obsessed over killing the thing, never that it might be after them still. He'd assumed they were moving around from case to case to keep ahead of whatever of John's reputation might go before him, to hunt bad things and save people, and to earn what they could along the way. "That creeps me out. No, don't give me a .45." 

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask John to bind him to Sam, there was some kind of spell, so he'd always have a sense of where he was but... no, that was too 'out there', reserved for married couples, and clerics who were celibate for life but had a... there had to be a better word – partner? Sidekick? Mentor/student arrangement? None of the above fit him and Sam. "I want to learn the incantation." He'd start with that. But then he yawned. "Shit, maybe not now. I'm too fuzzy. The meds." He shrugged, suddenly self-conscious before his father. 

* * *

Usually, it was Sam who'd drive him nuts with questions, but, of course, Dean would, too, when it concerned his little brother. John raised his arms. "Dean, please. I don't have all the answers. If I had, I'd have hunted the son of a bitch down already." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the full truth either. He should never have opened this box, should have known that if he gave Dean a clue, he'd want the whole story including the parts he must never find out about.

"I will teach you the exorcism," John changed topic. "You and Sam, actually. Once the two of you have recovered. So why don't you go rest for another hour?"

* * *

Dean pressed his lips together but he knew a dismissal when he heard it. If the trait was inherited rather than simply learned, Sam had inherited their father's stubbornness and he wouldn't get anywhere. Since he'd already requested to be taught an exorcism on his own, he couldn't back out now. It would be useful. Probably life-saving. He only pushed back a minute ago because he wanted – _needed_ – more information on this danger to Sam. Maybe he couldn't have the relationship with Sam that his body and his heart wanted, but he could still look out for him, take care of him, protect him. 

"Fine, fine," he sighed. And yawned again. "I'll lie down. Call me later if you want help with your truck, or whatever." 

Dean's system was giving him the signal that he read as sleep following the minute he was horizontal. Whenever John rousted him, it would probably be too soon. He definitely wasn't looking forward to a long drive. Before, he could have sprawled out in the back seat at least part of the time. Since the Impala was his now and Dad had his own wheels, Dean would be driving the entire distance. Sitting on his ass. With a short nod to say he was leaving the kitchen, he did so, conscious about his gait. Along the hallway, he faked normal walking as best he could. The door to their dad's room was less than twenty steps away. He hurried, hoping to not run into Sam. 

* * *

"Sorry, Dean," John stopped his son. "You're back to rooming with Sam. I need to catch a nap, too, since I was up with your brother all night."

* * *

"Oh." Dean whirled around. "Shit. Sorry," he added automatically. Well, he was going to have to face the music otherwise known as Sam's temper sooner or later. For sure there'd be a plethora of bitchfaces involved, and either a stinging, acid tongue or the deadly silent treatment. His own nerves scraped raw between the after-effects of the last day and this new, scant intel on the demon Dad hunted, Dean wasn't exactly up for it, but he had no choice. Sam sure as hell wasn't fussed about Dean's feelings on all that – feelings sucked anyway. Fuck love. There was only duty. 

Pushing open the door, Dean immediately went to his bed and lowered himself down. He prayed to god between the pain pills and his hurried movements that he didn't give anything away, if Sam was even watching. He kept his own eyes away. Not much he could do about the bruises on his neck and wrists. Thank god the nastier ones on his hipbones and the bite marks were covered. No, he didn't want to think about that, never again. Dean turned his back to Sam and curled himself into the least uncomfortable position he could find. 

* * *

His head turned to the empty bed, Sam's eyes snapped open when the latch snicked shut and someone entered the room, Dean. Sam almost closed them again to tiny slits. The curtains were drawn. Unless Dean looked very carefully, he'd think Sam was asleep.

The way his brother was shuffling to the bed, then turning immediately to face away from him, had Sam's senses at red alert. Already earlier, in the kitchen, he'd wondered why Dean wasn't sitting at the table for his pie but hunched over at the kitchen counter, looking even more hung-over than Sam felt. And why hadn't Dean returned during the night? Sam hadn't noticed much except that he was throwing up his guts over and over, but it was Dad hauling him to the bathroom and back to bed, not Dean. Something was wrong.

"Dean," he whispered, then, when his brother didn't stir, he hissed louder, _"Dean!"_

* * *

Having thought Sam was going to continue to fake sleep – which Dean could tell by his breathing – Dean ignored the first hiss from the other bed. The loud whisper came again: his name was repeated, more adamantly. He sighed, just wanting to sleep, but no, Sam wasn't going to let him alone. He could feel eyes on the back of his head, and the rest of him, too. 

Not moving other than to tense his muscles, Dean whispered, "What?!"

* * *

Now that he had his brother's attention, Sam wasn't so sure anymore if he really wanted to speak to Dean. However, something was wrong, and he needed to know what it was. Beside the obvious, of course, that Dean didn't love Sam.

"Are you..." Sam's heart was racing, and it wasn't only because of his pathetic hung-over state. "Are you, um, okay?"

* * *

After a second of unexplainable outrage, Dean hissed, "I'm anything but OK. But fuck that. What do you want?" 

* * *

Right, Dean was pissed off. Sam wasn't sure what to do. _He_ should be the pissed-off one! After all, _he'd_ been denied by Dean, not vice versa! But his head was throbbing and he simply didn't have the energy to be mad at his brother right now. Oh, the rejection still stung, but what Sam wanted more than anything in this moment was peace. Or at least a truce of sorts. 

"Um, nothing, I guess. Just wanted to make sure you're okay." Sam hesitated. Dean was never one to pour his heart out, but... "Wanna talk?"

* * *

Dean closed his eyes. Sam didn't sound too pissed off, at the moment; more unsure than anything. Although, it was hard to tell, whispering. The words sounded like an uneasy truce, and Dean supposed he could live with that, for as long as it lasted. "I'll live." 

If Sam was asking Dean if he wanted to talk, odds were strongly in his favor that it was Sam who needed to. The subject matter that came to mind made Dean cringe. Their sexual history. The abrupt end there-of. Last night, either Sam's brush with alcohol poisoning or what Dean had done to occupy his time. He didn't think he could bear any of that. Still, he found himself mumbling, "Talk about what?" If Sam had something to say, better that he say it to him than Dad or Social Services. 

* * *

Sam thought hard for a moment. That Dean was in bed during the daytime meant that something was _really_ wrong with him. That Dad allowed him to withdraw meant it was serious. Then, there was the fact that Dad still hadn't yelled at Sam for getting wasted. His brain didn't seem to work too well, what with the pain and his queasy stomach, but Sam could still smell a rat the size of a continent.

He made up his mind. Since Dad seemed to accept that Dean needed rest, Sam didn't think they were likely to be interrupted. He slid out of his bed and slipped under Dean's blanket, spooning him as Dean was facing away. "Talk about that I love you," Sam whispered. "I still want... you know... But I love you." He hesitated, then asked miserably, "Are you sick because of me? I didn't want to hurt you."

* * *

There was a long silence. Just as Dean began to feel hopeful that Sam would drop it, his brother slid into his bed. The long, lanky body pressed up against him, arm coming around. Dean held himself stiff, not wanting to respond, and yet not wanting to kick Sam out, either. The warmth and familiar comfort of his body was too tempting. 

"'M not sick," he muttered. "I... Had a bad night. Got roughed up, okay?" Leading Sam to think he got jumped was easier than the real truth. He'd gotten jumped alright – in a different sense. So fine, he wasn't the invincible, badass big brother any longer; he'd just have to prove himself. 

But Sam's plaintive little professions of love... they ripped Dean's heart to shreds. He could distance himself, tell Sam that it was over and like any... break-up... he'd have to come to terms with it. Yeah, Dean could imagine doing that in his head, only it was still too close to the surface, his needy, selfish love and desire for his brother. "I... I love you too, Sam. No matter what. Even if we can't..." He swallowed hard. 

* * *

"Our fight... I shouldn't have drunk, then you'd have been here... safe..." Sam knew he wasn't directly responsible, but it was obvious that Dean was hurting. Hearing that Dean still loved him made Sam feel better immediately. Smiling to himself, he nuzzled his brother's nape and gave it a lick. 

"Maybe I can make it better?"

* * *

If Dean were here, safe, now, it would have meant that Dad took Sam out the night before, and made him do god knew what with god knew who. Instead, Dean had gone and by chance, made more money than he could have ever imagined. And for that, Sam was safe. It was worth it. Even if he'd only made a couple hundred, it would have been worth it to keep Sam safe. He would never allow Dad to do that to Sam – never. 

"Doesn't matter, Sammy. No use crying over spilled milk." Then Dean felt his brother's mouth hot against the back of his neck, his breath, his tongue. Usually, he was behind; it was Sam against him, though, not the uncaring grips of strangers. Unable to suppress it, Dean shuddered hard. The irony was, Sam couldn't make right or better what he didn't know the truth of. One thing right, out of everything wrong and fucked up about them, was how Sam felt curled up around him, sharing heat. 

"Roll over, Sam. I'll be the big spoon." 

* * *

When Dean shuddered, Sam's first thought was that it was from arousal, but something told him that it wasn't so simple. He couldn't see bruises on Dean's neck, but Dean was clearly in pain. Otherwise, Dad would never have let him go to bed during daytime.

"'kay," Sam said, and moved backward to make space for Dean, but he didn't roll over as instructed. Instead, he announced, "Wanna see you."

* * *

Sam moved a bit, putting a few inches between them, an accomplishment since the bed was really only made for one person. But he didn't turn to face away. Great. As in, not. He was going to see Dean alright, and he was going to freak. While his first thought was to refuse, followed by kicking Sam out of his bed, Dean did neither. From here on out, him bearing the evidence of sex with others, whatever the particulars, would be the norm. 

"What? It's just me, Sam." The thought of turning over, all that twisting and jostling, was too much with how out of it he felt. Dean slowly pushed himself onto his back, trembling with the effort not to put sudden pressure on any bruises. 

* * *

Dean turned over to face Sam, and he looked like always. And yet, he looked completely different. Sam had no clue as to what had changed, but he was worried. His brother was clearly in pain. And yet... Every time Dean or Dad had been in a fight – they took great care to keep Sam out of it – the first thing an opponent would go for was the face or chest. Dean didn't bear any marks on his face, which didn't sound right. Not sure that a straight-forward question would be appreciated, Sam reached out to pull his brother's shirt up. 

"I've changed my mind," he grinned. "Seeing you isn't enough. I wanna feel you, too, your chest against mine."

* * *

"No. Please, Sam, I don't... It's not pretty and I don't wanna move." Dean wasn't lying. Pulling on a t-shirt hadn't been fun, and working it off again, lying down, would be more than painful. 

* * *

It had to be bad if Dean wouldn't even let Sam lift his shirt. "They punched your ribs?" he asked in alarm. "Are you sure they haven't broken anything?" Sam knew that if a broken rib punctured a lung, this could end deadly. "Has Dad checked you out?"

* * *

"Yeah." Another necessary half-truth. Dean had seen to himself, thank you very much. "No broken bones, just bruises and sore muscles." 

Wary of his brother insisting, Dean flicked his eyes at Sam once, then away. His shoulder was pressed to Sam's chest since he'd moved, and he could feel the pounding rush of his heart. The kid was a bundle of nerves. "Sam, relax. In a couple of days, I'll be fine." 

* * *

Relief surged through Sam and he relaxed immediately. As much as he disliked their father always being on them, this time he appreciated that Dad had made sure his brother was okay. 

"Couple days," he chuckled. "By then I hope my head will have stopped aching, too." Sam sobered. "Why did they jump you?" he asked. "And where? What happened?"

* * *

Dean was about to shrug but stopped himself. He wanted to take Sam in his arms. Couldn't do that either. "At the bar, or like, after. Don't really wanna talk about it." 

* * *

It had happened at a bar and Dean didn't want to talk about it. Sam's heart raced as a suspicion formed immediately. "Was it about a girl?" he asked.

* * *

A girl? Jealous boyfriend with a pack of buddies in tow would be an easy explanation. Too easy. And a lie. As much as it twisted his gut, Dean found a better use for... this. Sam needed to learn, and talking to him about it the previous day had had the opposite effect. 

"No. There's this new club in town called Pornucopia. I went there, was dressed up nice and all. Some rednecks decided I was a twink and they didn't like it." He decided not to add much in the way of details. Sometimes not knowing was scarier. 

* * *

_"Pornucopia?"_ Sam giggled. The name sounded too absurd to be real. Then it hit him. Dean had dressed up nice, so nice that he looked like a twink. 

"So," he hesitated, not sure if he really wanted to know the answer. After all, they'd spent the day having lots of sex before their fight? "If you got dressed up and all, did you go there to get laid?"

* * *

Dammit, that little shit was too smart for his own good. Dean tensed his jaw. Neither of them moved. Sam had to know that Dean wasn't going to be celibate for the rest of his life. Waiting less than a day made him incredibly cheap of him, but better that than the real story. Better a slut than a whore. "Maybe. I was just... I had to get out of here. For a while. You were drunk, Dad was pissed, and we... well, you know."

It was kind of ironic. Any other day, Dad got drunk where-as Sam got all bitchy and pissed off. Dean couldn't use the word 'hurt', but that was what he and Sam were. It sucked, but it – they – had to stop. Other than Sam dying, he couldn't imagine anything worse. And hurt things lashed out, be it animals, the supernatural, or people. Dean reminded himself again why, because right now, Sam so close he could feel the ghost of his body, Dean could barely remember. 

* * *

Although he'd pretty much expected it, Dean's admission hit Sam like a punch to the gut. Before he could stop himself, he hissed, "So you won't bang your brother but any girl you've never met before will do?" 

Feeling Dean flinch, Sam added, angry and with intent to hurt, "Or were you trying to chat up a guy, a _real man,_ because I'm only your little brother?"

* * *

"Listen to yourself!" Dean hissed back. He'd expected Sam's anger, and the fact that Sam was angry at him for trying to do the right thing made him kind of angry, too. Angry, and sad. Not enough to back down – he didn't have to put up with it wordlessly. 

"You're not even hearing what you're saying. It's not your gender. It's kind of your age, although you'll be older some day. Dude, you're my brother – I can't fuck you! Wouldn't do my sister if I had one, either. It's... We can't. If you can't be satisfied with... how far it had already gone, then like I told you, we're done." It all still sounded so lame. So stupid. He was stupid, that he couldn't explain it better. Dean reached up, groaning as he twisted to sandwich Sam's stormy-eyed face between his palms. It was a miracle he didn't flinch away immediately or slap him away. 

Dean waited till Sam met his eyes. "You deserve better than me. Better than this. You want out of hunting some day, fucking me is not how. You'd never get out of this life." 

Maybe if he said it enough times, the hollow emptiness in Dean wouldn't consume him. He himself could barely believe his own words. Sam gone, not by his side? It was unfathomable, but he was pushing him away. "Now either shut up and go to sleep or get out of my bed." He let his hands slide down, onto his chest.

* * *

Sam listened and felt the despair from the day before returning. Again, Dean told him that they couldn't, and if Sam couldn't accept that they were done. Then, Dean took his face between his hands, and Sam's heart jumped at the first touch from his brother. But when Dean told him that Sam deserved better than him, it felt as if his heart would break. Sam couldn't speak, and then the moment was over. Dean removed his hands and told Sam to shut up or leave.

Why couldn't Dean understand him? Sam couldn't shut up, nor leave. He reached up now, framing his brother's face with his hands. "If not getting a normal life is the price I have to pay for staying with you, then I don't fucking care about school, girls, and picket fences," he said fiercely and kissed Dean's mouth, not letting go of his face. "All I want is you. Forever."

* * *

Dean cursed himself for being weak, weak! When Sam leaned in and kissed him, framing his face in an echo of Dean's earlier motion, he couldn't move away, couldn't push Sam away. The words out of Sam's mouth were more of the same, his denial of everything Dean needed him to understand. But his mouth, his lips, were warm and soft, so good against his, Dean responded. Threading his fingers into Sam's hair, he pulled the firm, familiar body closer. The pills were working well enough it didn't hurt now.

"Sh, don't speak, don't make a sound," he whispered. Their Dad hadn't called out a warning for the whispering, which probably meant he was asleep already, but they couldn't take that chance. 

Want rose up in Dean, intense and desperate, and his breath quickened. Rather than physical, it was emotional want – his body was flipping him the bird. It didn't matter. Tamping down a moan, Dean took Sam's mouth, angling his head. His tongue was slick and hot, twining with Dean's as their lips met in a wet clash. He sucked hard, and ran his hand down Sam's back, fingertips tucked into the ridge of his spine. Sam's scent, clean from his shower, surrounded him. "Baby..." he exhaled. 

* * *

_"Baby..."_

When Dean kissed him back, Sam shivered. It felt as if they'd been separated for years. He let go of Dean's face and wrapped his long arms around his brother's back and shoulders to pull him closer until their upper bodies were flush against each other. Sam wasn't hard – apparently being hung-over dampened his libido – but at the moment, he didn't really care. Dean wasn't rubbing back as Sam would have expected. Maybe his brother was hung-over, too, or he'd taken something for the pain. It didn't matter. There were more important things. 

"Need to feel you," Sam explained before resuming the kiss. It was different from the way they usually kissed, sweeter, and at the same time somehow desperate. He was clinging to his older brother like he had when he'd been a frightened child. 

"Dean," Sam whispered. "Missed this. Missed you." 

* * *

"Mmmph, mmph!" Dean tried like hell to keep his little grunts down. Instantly, gooseflesh chased itself up and down all over him as Sam plastered himself against his body and hung on like a drowning man. Careful of his creaky bed and his bruises, Dean twined their legs together. 

"Sh, sh..." Sam was so desperate, it was right there in his eyes, that and the fact he didn't understand recent events and fear and undiluted adolescent need, which was surprising in light of nothing going on between his legs either, but maybe the other emotions cancelled it out for once. Dean kept doing what he knew: kiss the boy, taste him and train him well, give him everything he could, while he could. It was like his mouth had a mind of its own, had to lick or suck on every part he could reach without moving much, neck and ears, under the jaw, down to the hollow of Sam's throat. The breathless gasps tore at him, made him roll his hips, helpless do stop the motion. 

* * *

John entered the bathroom and swore. He'd had it with the brat. Pushing the door to the boys' room open without knocking first, he shouted, "Sam! I told you to clean the bath..."

It took him a moment until his eyes adjusted to the twilight in the room – the curtains were closed – and then he stopped dead in his tracks. Sam was in Dean's bed, and he was very aware that he had no business being there, judging from his sudden movement.

"Sam, what the hell do you think you're doing?" John's voice almost snapped.

* * *

"I... I... was cold..." Sam stammered as he clambered out of his brother's bed. Stricken with panic, he still managed to pull himself together and stood between John and Dean, folding his arms over his chest. 

"Dean has nothing to do with this," Sam pushed his chin up in defiance. "He was asleep and I didn't ask him if it was okay."

* * *

"You. Bathroom. Now. And then wait for me in the kitchen." John was seething. 

As soon as Sam had fled the room, John turned to his eldest son.

"Well?"

* * *

Head spinning, Dean pulled back to take a breath. It was far too warm under the blankets. Not only that, he wavered between wanting more, wanting _everything_ and hating himself for considering giving in, if he did. 

John's angry bellow took care of his indecision. 

"Oh, shit! Dad!" he hissed, echoed by some expletive from Sam. They'd never been stupid enough to get into it without Dad being long gone on a hunt before. If he'd been less out of it, Dean would have quickly turned over, but he couldn't. There was no time – John banged the door open and stomped in, yelling about Sam's bathroom cleaning not being up to par. For a second he paused while Sam flinched bodily and jumped out of bed, whining that he was cold. As for himself, Dean relaxed and let his eyelids slide half-mast. It was true that he'd intended to sleep, had told Sam to shut up and go to sleep, it just hadn't ended that way.

After Sam stalked out, chastened – and thank god not hard! – their dad turned furiously to Dean. In getting up, Sam had pulled the blanket partially off Dean, and he left it alone, so John could see for himself that Dean had on a shirt and boxers and he had... Nothing to hide. Except for a shit-load of marks, which was the main reason for the clothes in the first place. 

"Well what?" Dean snapped. He was pushing his luck. "Like I care. He thought I was asleep and I didn't bother to correct him. We share a bed most of the time anyway, in most of our 'homes'. Oh that's right, we don't have one." 

Before he said anything he'd really regret, Dean stopped himself. It was Sam who mouthed off, not him. His heart pounded from endorphins and adrenaline, and he only kept from twitching by reminding himself of his various pains. Maybe they hadn't quite been caught in the act but it was the closest thing to it, and their Dad would be suspicious something funky was going on now. _Try the last two years, Dad,_ he thought bitterly.

If it would keep John from punishing Sam too harshly, Dean didn't even care if his Dad hit him. He deserved it, for so many reasons.

* * *

John was fuming on the inside. Sam had been walking a tight rope for months, and John wouldn't take the rebellion and defiance any longer. But first of all, he had to deal with Dean.

"I should have let you sleep in my room," he sighed. "When you asked me to keep Sammy away, I had no idea..." No idea of what? No, Sam was just his usual self, demanding that the world bow to his wishes. Sam felt cold – big surprise after drinking himself half to death – so he took it out on his brother, not caring that Dean was injured. And John could have prevented it all.

"Dean, you're right. You deserve your own room, and I'll keep this in mind for the future. For now... stay put until you feel rested, and then you and I will swap. I'll bunk with Sam tonight and until then I'll keep him out of your hair. Tomorrow, we'll get on the road to Bobby's, and we'll see how to take things from there. I've tolerated your brother's antics for too long already – I'm not blaming you."

John was fighting with himself. A part of him felt so sorry for Dean that he wanted to apologize, but in the end, he couldn't bring himself to say it.

"You okay otherwise?" he asked gruffly.

* * *

"Yeah, fine for now," Dean answered, just as gruff. "Thanks." He wasn't fine. When were any of them fine? But he was expected to put up a good front, and more-over, he expected it of himself. Despite the coffee and sugar, Dean was so damned tired. While he felt bad about leaving his brother to face the sharp side of Dad's tongue on his own, he would just have to learn to deal with it. If... If Sam was pushed beyond his limits and blurted out everything, Dean was as good as dead. There was still that bond between them, though, and he trusted it, trusted Sam to keep his trap shut. 

"I... I'll just move to your room now," he muttered and levered himself up, gritting his teeth. "Sam... He didn't mean anything. He just needs to grow up." In some ways, he was, but he didn't have any idea how to look out for himself or really survive. Dean would have to do something about that too, though it would suck royally, to separate himself and let Sam take his own lumps. Well, Sam was already hurt, not only from his hangover, Dean could say that on behalf of his brother.

Dragging himself to his feet, Dean trudged over to Dad's room and slid into bed. Would he rather have had Sam there? Hell, yeah. But... It was almost like he to keep telling himself, too: It was over now. 

He let his eyes drift shut, and the black veil fell over him. 

* * *

Watching Dean's painful limp to the other bedroom was the final straw for John. When Sam sauntered from the bathroom to the kitchen – finally, the boy had made sure to take his time – with an insolent smirk on his face, John was seething with anger. "Why can't you let Dean rest? Are you so focused on yourself only that you can't see he's hurt – or are you ignoring it on purpose?" When Sam just stared at him, John continued. "Dean was beaten up last night over hustling pool, providing food and shelter for us, and that includes you, mister."

"That's a fucking lie," Sam exploded. "He said he was roughed up by some guys who said he looked like a twink," he burst out. "And _you_ must have sent him there hustling, so it's _your_ fault!"

John had turned all calm and cold when he spoke again. "Care to explain how you came by that knowledge if Dean was, as you both claimed, fast asleep? No, don't bother answering. You don't care about anyone but yourself, Sam Winchester, which is bad enough in itself, but I won't tolerate you corrupting your brother. Making Dean lie for you so you get away with your childish whims, that's over."

Sam stared at him, but John didn't blink. Still, he felt no victory when Sam finally averted his eyes. "Tell me, Sam, when's the last time I tanned your hide? If I remember right, it was before you even started school. Last chance, buddy. You swear to leave Dean be and behave from now on, do your duty as a part of this family, and no more contradiction, or I swear, you won't be able to sit straight for days."

Narrowing his eyes, Sam deliberately swept his arm over the kitchen table next to him, pushing John's half full beer bottle on the floor. "Oops."

John saw red. He didn't believe in corporal punishment, but the brat was really asking for it. "Very well," he pressed out through his teeth as he began to loosen his leather belt. "Drop your pants and bend over the table – I understand that clearing it was your way of telling me that you want this."

For the first time this day, Sam looked insecure, maybe even a little scared, as if he hadn't believed that John would go through with his threat. John didn't want to do this, but he didn't feel that he had a chance: if he didn't show Sam that there was a limit, his youngest son would never learn to conduct himself.

"I'm waiting," he said in a clipped tone. Bracing himself for a fight, John wasn't sure what he'd do if Sam refused. A part of him was wishing for it, that Sam would see reason and apologize, promise he'd be good, but of course, it didn't happen. The kid's stubbornness won out. His head held high, Sam bared his butt and lay over the kitchen table.

* * *

Sam couldn't believe that John was really going to spank him like a school boy. Then again, he kind of deserved it for his own stupidity. If he hadn't walked into John's trap and admitted that Dean had been awake... 

He wanted to scream at John that he couldn't care less about 'this family', but he'd just sworn to Dean that he'd stay. Without a word, he took his pants off, the hatred in his mind as firm as the resolve not to utter a single sound.

It hurt in a different way than he remembered being spanked as a child. First, there was the slapping sound, and then the pain blossomed, but although Sam knew somehow that it hurt a lot, it was almost blanked out by the rage he felt. 

By the time John stopped, Sam had lost count of the blows. When John told him to get dressed again and go to his bedroom and stay there until further notice, Sam pressed out a "Happy now?" between his clenched teeth and staggered to the bedroom, trying to ignore his now burning ass.

Only when the door had closed behind him did he allow the tears to come.

* * *

If Sam would have slammed the door, John wasn't sure if he might have killed the boy. He shuddered, shocked at how much his youngest could make him lose his cool. John knew he had to get out, at least for the evening. Grabbing the car keys off the kitchen counter, he left the apartment. 

The next day, they'd head for Bobby's place. If Sam continued throwing hissy fits over every little thing, he could ride in the bed of the truck, John decided. That way, neither he nor Dean would have to deal with him. He couldn't wait to leave the brat with Bobby while he and Dean headed out to take care of the twin sisters' spirits.

* * *

He’d only been under moments when Dean surfaced to consciousness again. The tension in the house was too thick to sleep, no matter how much he wanted to. But when Sam finished cleaning up and tromped to the kitchen to face John, Dean thought he'd throw up, himself, over what ensued. Once, he'd playfully 'spanked' Sam, and they'd both enjoyed it. This, though... 

What had been done to him the previous night had been per his consent – at least, he knew what he might be in for. The thick piles of bills he'd handed his dad this morning proved that he'd been very, very well paid. He had a secret stash now that was a small slice of his net, and still more than he often made in a night. 

The progression of events in the kitchen, on the other hand, went from bad to worse. The litany of pissed off rhetoric John directed at Sam was the same stuff they'd all heard before about the family, Sam's attitude, yada yada; only then, Dad threw it in Sam's face how he was a liar, and Sam screamed the same back at him. No, no... They were arguing about Dean, John accused Sam of corrupting him... So wrong! Dean was the guilty one! There was more arguing, the thud of something glass hitting the floor, then John's belt buckle clinked and Dean felt his eyes widen and his jaw unhinge. 'Bend over the table'? What the fuck?! But he knew, had known somehow, from the instant Sam had stepped his mutinous little ass into the same space as their dad and refused to back down, what would happen. 

It did. Dean flinched at the snapping sound of leather on skin. He listened hard, ears alert for any noise from Sam but there was none. One more slap. Another. Unconsciously, he was counting, biting the side of his hand, trying not to choke because he couldn't breathe. Couldn't fucking believe that their Dad was beating Sam's naked ass with a belt. Like he was subhuman or something. An animal. How dare he?! John was not playing around – from the sound of it, he poured his considerable strength into every strike. Nine... Ten... If Dean expected Sam to eventually cry out or even groan, he was mistaken. Not even a gasp. He wondered if his brother had passed out. No, because then Dad would stop. Sixteen... Seventeen... And then nothing. It was over. 

Dean lay there shaking. And then it hit him. Why the hell had he not gotten up, or yelled, anything, and stopped it? He'd been frozen in place like the proverbial deer in the headlights. What a fucking coward. In the state of mind he'd been in, John would probably have come after him next, but that wasn't it. He wasn't afraid of the beating. Nor did he think Sam deserved the extreme measure. It was complete and utter disbelief, maybe denial, which he recognized as form of shock. But he still hated himself, imagined the humiliation and pain Sam must feel right now. He was a sick, sick puppy that he even thought it, but a tiny part of Dean was relieved that it was 'only' an ass-whipping and not other things that could have happened after that belt was unbuckled... 

It was like the house itself took a breath. Then Sam growled something and scuttled to his room, and a minute later John grabbed his keys and whatever and slammed his way out of the front door. Waiting those endless minutes to see if their dad would change his mind and return took forever. He couldn't hear it, more like feel a vibration or out-of-range frequency, but Dean knew Sam was crying, stifling the noise, and he wanted to go to him _NOW_. Or, he could leave him be in his private shame to lick his wounds and see if Sam would seek him out. That would have been Dean's personal preference. 

After a century of silence, and it seemed like Dad was gone for real; Dean couldn't take it any longer. "Sam..." His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "Sammy, you gonna live?"

* * *

Sam was shivering under the thin blanket. Earlier, he'd used the excuse of being cold to explain why he was in Dean's bed. Now, he really felt chilled. The fight had taken everything out of him, which hadn't been much to begin with, not after earlier with Dean... He hated himself for hurting his brother – almost more than his father for forcing this life on him – and of course life in general. And now Dad had taken Dean away from him as well... Or had Sam pushed Dean away? But they'd made up, hadn't they? They'd kissed and...

_"Sammy, you gonna live?"_

He hadn't even noticed that the door had opened. Hunter senses. Sam snorted bitterly. Useless. "'course I'm gonna live," he huffed. Then it registered how Dean's voice was shaking, and something in Sam broke. "Not sure I wanna, though," he choked out – and burst into fresh tears.

* * *

A few miles away from their rental, John was drowning his pain in cheap liquor. He couldn't believe what he'd done. If anyone would have told him before today that his life could get any worse, he'd have shrugged it off, but now he knew that there was no limit to screwing up. How the hell was he supposed to deal with Sammy? John knew that he had to keep a tight grip on his youngest or he'd lose him to the dark side. Today, he wondered if he'd already lost the fight. What was going on with the boy?

The next time the barkeep asked if he wanted a top-up. John told him to leave the bottle.

* * *

He didn't remember getting up, yet there he stood, just outside the room he'd been sharing with Sam. Wobbling into the doorway, Dean looked down at his brother, who had thrown himself face-down on his narrow bed and was shivering from cold, pain, or the force of his emotions. He huffed, looked up and retorted that of course he'd live, as if to put on a show of macho pique. That lasted all of two seconds, long enough for Dean to have it on the tip of his tongue to tell him it wasn't a literal question. Before he could form words, Sam's face crumpled and tears rained down over his cheeks like a flood. 

For the first time in his life, Dean didn't go to comfort his sibling immediately. Like any big brother, he gave Sam all sorts of hell when he was grumpy, annoyed or just mildly hurt. Any other time, when it was something real bad, he'd have had him in his arms, rocking Sam like he was still a baby. This wasn't mild, and the internal pain had to be as much or worse than the external.

Today was different. Sam might not want to be touched, and Dean couldn't say he blamed him. Also, if this was what mostly innocent bought them – or Sam, this time – did they want to chance worse? Lastly, Sam was a Winchester and a dude and someday, a hunter, and he had to learn how to control his reactions. He hadn't been shot, slashed, broken any bones, nothing of the unspoken 'worse'; he needed to buck up and get a grip. 

Fine, not that Dean was much better. His eyes started to sting, viewing the shaking and crying that were the outward expressions of Sam's misery. The kid looked up at him with swollen, red, scared eyes like he was doomed, and maybe he was. Earlier, Dad had suggested something was after Sam, not all of them but Sam specifically. Whatever it was, whatever the reason, Dean promised himself that if it was true and not another fragment of his father's ongoing fixation, he was going to save Sam from it, no matter what it cost him.

At last Dean made his way across the tiny room and sat, more on the side of his hip than his ass, next to Sam on the rumpled bed. 

"I'm sorry... so sorry. He's lost his mind," Dean offered. He didn't know what to say anymore. Everything he said and did just made things worse. He wished he knew of a spell that could wipe their minds, take away the past forty-eight hours and start it over. Even owning the Impala wasn't worth... this. Although, without hindsight, they'd probably just replay some variation on it, like being stuck in a bad TV show. 

Musing, Dean found himself giving voice to pushed-down thoughts. "I'm betting he's at the bar now, halfway through a bottle of Scotch. We should... get some rest while we can. And you. God, Sam, don't push him! You know he'll kill anyone, even us, who doesn't toe the line. Maybe someday we can get out, but now...? He'd find us. He'd hunt us down. I've imagined it, just getting in Baby and leaving. I can hunt, I can hustle. Hell, I could even sell my ass. Prime real estate!" Dean said it all cocky; let Sam chew on that. Then his voice turned tired again. "But you know it wouldn't work. A week, a month... he'd track us and we'd be dead in a shallow, unmarked grave. Salted and burned. I know you want out of this life. So make sure you survive long enough, and then you go somewhere, do something, that is so far removed from hunting the supernatural that it's like you never knew about us. Until then... What is it they say? Fake it till you make it." 

* * *

It was so unfair! All Sam wanted was a normal life, but Dad wouldn't listen. The physical pain wasn't the worst. Even the humiliation, Sam thought he could live through – although it would have been easier without Dean seeing him cry. But no, what really did him in was the realization, and the logical conclusion from it, the resignation that he was doomed to live this kind of life forever. 

When Dean pointed out that Dad had lost his mind, Sam thought it must be a bad joke. Dad had lost his mind fourteen-and-a-half years ago when Mom had been killed in Sam's nursery. Dean trying to explain that Dad was licking his wounds all alone by getting drunk didn't help much either. If Dad suffered so much from beating Sam, then why didn't he simply let Sam go and allow him to be who he wanted to be, and _not_ a hunter?

Sam's despair over being powerless to change his fate deepened to an almost infinite dimension when Dean admitted that he'd thought about leaving, too, but that there was no way to escape Dad. That Dad would hunt them down and kill them if they ever tried to get away. 

For a second, Sam thought that being salted and burned would at least end his misery, but then he perked up when Dean suggested that one day, Sam would succeed in finding another life. If – and Sam thought that was a capital if – he managed to survive long enough. However, he also knew that there'd be a price to pay: Dean. If Sam got out, he'd never see Dean again, and that was unthinkable.

Lying on his side, Sam looked at his brother. Dean looked very uncomfortable, perching on the bed; the discomfort most likely due to his bruises from the night before. And yet, before Dad had found them in bed together, Dean had hugged and petted Sam, and kissed him. Now, he kept his distance, and Sam didn't know why. He wanted to ask, but was too scared of the answer. They had spent the day fighting, after all. What if Dean was seizing a welcome opportunity to really end what they'd been doing?

Sam swallowed hard and looked down as the whole misery of his almost fifteen years came crashing over him. "I'm so tired," he whispered, feeling utterly and completely broken.

* * *

Sam listened, for once. Dean didn't know what was getting through to his brain, but he didn't argue. If Dean's semi-guilty confessions about his views on Dad's version of madness drove the point home where nothing else had, then he could comfort himself in knowing he had spilled such things to Sam, not an outsider.

At last, Sam mumbled he was tired, making no comment on Dean's rambling. So he agreed, "Yeah, I'm totally wiped. Seems like I've been trying to sleep for hours now, and here I am, still awake." Barely. Awkward as hell, he sort of... patted Sam's shoulder. Now he needed to escape before they got too familiar again. Dean looked at the door. It was only a few steps away, and much too far. With a groan, he heaved himself upright. "Going back to the other room. Sleep well."

Dean really hoped Sam didn't follow. He didn't have the strength to turn him away again, physically or otherwise. Once again, he slid under the blankets and rooted around a little, trying to find a position he could bear. 

* * *

Dean patted his shoulder and left. It didn't make a lot of difference to Sam that his brother was not physically in the same room with him any longer: deep in his heart, he knew that he'd already lost Dean, that Dean was trying to keep his distance. Maybe the rift had been caused by Sam's desire to take the final step and give up his 'virginity', but maybe Dean was simply tired of Sam's antics. Why would Dean, born to hunt, want to stick with a brother who hated every single aspect of it?

Sam's butt was throbbing, but the pain didn't count in comparison to the knowledge that he wasn't wanted by his father, and now by his brother, too, the only person he'd ever loved. He swore to himself that he'd heed Dean's final advice: _Fake it till you make it._ Sam would make it. And neither Dad nor Dean would be the wiser until he was gone, forever. Still, the thought of losing Dean...

Hiding his head under the blanket and biting his fist to stifle any sound, Sam cried himself to sleep.

* * *

FIN


End file.
